


Papa

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Politics, Prompt Fill, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt:<br/>Jon/Sansa- Jon's reaction when he finds out Sansa is pregnant with his bastard, almost wrecks their new relationship.</p><p>Jon and Sansa's attempt at family life is rocked by a shocking announcement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arms Around Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elle_G](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_G/gifts).



> Thanks to the wonderful Bluecichlid for her beta-work! This was GOING to be a one-shot, but then.... I fell in love with writing this. Just so you guys know, this is NOT a Trials and Tricks fic. At all.
> 
> This is a dark one, guys.

A smile was on Jon’s face that evening. For the fourth night in a row, little Arya called him “Papa” when he’d hugged and kissed her goodnight.

He was looking forward to the rest of the night as well. Ned was feeling better. No signs of coughs or chills. Sansa had been worried for days that the illness would come back. But Jon hoped maybe she’d be in brighter spirits tonight after putting him to bed. Perhaps the Lady of Winterfell might be able to relax enough for them to enjoy some mulled wine by the fire and maybe even make love. 

There’d been that wonderful, brief period between when Jon had confessed his feelings to his cousin and Ned’s illness, where they’d fallen so beautifully into place.

Jon wanted to feel that again. He wanted to kiss her lips and pretend the world was as beautiful as she was. He wanted to look into her eyes and see Sansa, not the miserable ghost of Catelyn Tully Stark, sitting by her ailing son’s bedside. He wanted to make her smile again.

When he entered her solar that evening, he found her pacing in a circle before the fire, wringing her hands. At first, his thought was, _Ned’s illness came back._

Eddard Stark Arryn was a healthy, hearty boy. But two moons prior, he was seized by an awful illness that kept him bedridden, shaking, delirious, and feverish to the point where vigils were being surreptitiously planned in Wintertown.

Never had Sansa looked more like her mother than during the days she spent sobbing and running her fingers through her son’s auburn curls. It reminded Jon chillingly of Bran’s accident.

The fever and illness miraculously broke two weeks ago, and the boy was on his feet again, running after his little sister through the halls. Just that afternoon, Jon took both children to the godswood to pray, and the boy was in excellent spirits.

But if the fever were back… Jon wasn’t sure that he could handle it. The boy might not be his son by blood, but in the two years since he’d come North to serve as the crown’s representative in the North, he’d fallen as much in love with Eddard and Arya Stark Arryn as he had with their mother. 

He was extremely attached to the children, more so, certainly, than their blood father. Lord Harrold Hardyng Arryn fled back to the Vale with a mistress three years prior when his wife made it clear she would not be handing over governance of the North to him. A single letter was sent over the course of Eddard’s illness.

Jon had come to Winterfell on the orders of his half-brother and aunt, who were nervous over past Northern rebellions and potential instability in the region as a result of war, winter, famine, and the invasion of the Others. They felt more comfortable that a “dragon” be present, especially one who was raised as a direwolf. They needn’t have feared: Sansa was not only a remarkably capable leader but also had no interest whatsoever in donning the Crown of Winter. Jon came to Winterfell finding a woman who was hardened and efficient, but also very, very interested in being left alone with her home, people, and children.

He’d remained at Winterfell with her approval, however. “Whatever makes the king and queen feel more secure, as long as it does not interfere too greatly with my affairs. And it is sweet to see you again, Jon.”

Those were her words when he first arrived. Not that it was all heart and warm embraces at first. She’d also made the demand that were she to accept his presence, that he would not only allow her to continue her rule, but also that he’d guarantee the crown’s support of her son’s rights to the Eyrie, in case her estranged husband’s ambitious mistress bore the Lord of the Eyrie a bastard son. This was all assured and Jon found himself home at last.

Their reunion ended up going beyond mere familial sweetness. Not only had Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter grown into an exquisite beauty, but also a formidable leader and a doting mother. Though only four-and-twenty, she displayed a wisdom beyond her years that could have only come from years of hardship and learning.

Whether she was distributing resources to cold and hungry smallfolk, staring down scheming vassals who hoped to intimidate her, overseeing the reconstruction of Winterfell and the surrounding towns and villages, or looking after her children, Sansa Stark never failed to inspire awe in her former half brother. When he looked at her, he wondered what happened to that dainty little girl he once knew.

Jon wrestled with his feelings towards his hostess for moons on end until finally coming out and confessing what he felt for her a few weeks before Ned fell ill.

That she returned such feelings was a revelation.

The two of them grew close on an intimate level before they knew each other carnally. Jon loved her children as much as he loved her, and slipped into helping her raise her son and daughter with enthusiasm. Knowing Sansa as a lover only made it that much easier for him to forget that he wasn’t, in fact, the true husband and father of this little family. Every day was incredible.

One night, after putting little Arya to bed, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you, Papa.” And Jon knew he’d found exactly what he’d always, truly yearned for.

So seeing Sansa so nervous made his heart catch in his throat. Jon was at her side at once, clasping his hands in hers. “What is wrong, Sweetling? Is it Ned?” 

“Ned? No!” she hesitated. Jon’s relief over this was short-lived. It took much to shake the Lady of Winterfell. Usually the only thing that could cause her this much visible worry was a threat to her children.

“Arya then?” They’d done everything possible to keep Arya from catching Ned’s ailment. That unfortunately included a lot of isolation, with explanations to the teary-eyed five year old why she couldn’t see her big brother.

“No… No…” Sansa swallowed and sat down on the sofa by the fire, folding her hands and looking at her green wool skirts. There was a long pause, then she looked up. “Jon… I haven’t bled for two moons.” 

The ground disappeared beneath him.

He’d not corrected Arya that night. He felt no need to. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

Arya was not his daughter. She had Harrold Hardyng’s brown hair and dimples. Ned had the dimples too. They were not his children because Jon was not Sansa’s husband. Sansa’s husband was in the Eyrie, pumping bastards into the tavern wench he’d found near Pinkmaiden.

 _I should be her husband._ He clenched his burnt hand into a tight fist. _I’ve fathered a bastard on her. I swore I would never do such a thing. I swore…_

‘Targaryen’ had been his name for years now, but the reality of being a bastard never left him. He remembered the loneliness, the shame, the dishonor. _Oh gods, what have I done?_

The first night he fell into her arms was so natural it almost scared him. It seemed to Jon that when he kissed her lips, cupped her breasts, and entered her that he was coming home. It seemed the proper destination to the strange journey he’d been on for so long. They fit together so perfectly. Her bed felt like his bed. He felt like he belonged there.

_But I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t. Her bed was not mine to lie in. Her embrace was not mine to enjoy. Her womb is not mine to fill. I’ve destroyed her. I’ve destroyed everything. She’s ruined. I’ve put a bastard in her. An unwanted, lonely child. I’ve broken every vow. I’ve destroyed this family._

It was only when he felt the stinging pain in his cheek that he realized that he had said all of this out loud.

“How… dare… you…” Sansa choked out, gritting her teeth. Her blue eyes were wide.

“Sansa, I---”

“My--- I’m--- I don’t belong to anyone! And no one is going to destroy my family!” Tears were falling from her cheeks now. “I never loved Harry! I married him, took him into my bed because I had to! But there have never been any people in this world I have loved more than his children! And you think… You dare to imagine that a child of mine, one I’ve made with a man I brought into my home, bed, and heart freely… could ever be _unwanted_?”

She slapped him again. “I fought through Bolton forces, led my people through winter, rebuilt my ancestral home, watched as my husband left me behind with two children to raise! And you think _you_ could destroy this family _?”_ The Lady of Winterfell sneered at him. “Believe it or not, Jon Targaryen, you and your---- _man’s staff and stones---_ aren’t enough to ruin me or the family I’ve fought so hard for. Armies have tried and failed. And you presume to think you could do what they couldn’t?”

Her back was to him a second later, her arms hugging her middle. Jon struggled to speak.

“Sansa… You have a husband. A husband who is in the Vale and has been there for a very long time.

“You think I don’t know that? The irony of it! For three years I’ve been petrified of him putting a bastard boy into that woman of his, one to challenge Ned’s birthright. Three years he’s been with her! He’s gotten nothing. And now… I take a single lover… Just a handful of nights…”

Jon swallowed. It _was_ just a handful of nights before Ned’s illness had crashed in and wrecked their brief shared bliss. And now this. _The gods are cruel. And they are cruelest to those who dare to love._

Sometimes Jon wondered what he’d done to draw their ire so. For a while, since the end of the war, since discovering his true parentage, since rediscovering his home, since finding love with Sansa and her children, he thought maybe they’d turned a kinder eye upon him. He’d felt more charitable towards them.

He’d not known a greater sweetness than what he found in this woman’s embrace. She had this strength, kindness, and warmth within her that could grab and hold a person so perfectly that you felt no winter winds could ever penetrate her arms. She held him and made him feel more wanted, more needed, than he’d ever felt in his life.

And now she was crying for his sake.

“I’m sorry… I can’t… You deserve better than to have to mother my bastards.”

“I don’t mother bastards. I’m the Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I’m a lady. Oh gods… Jon… What is Harry going to do to me? Jon… What is going to happen to me? I wanted to be good. I was so _good._ I was alone for so _long._ And we didn’t… Not until… Oh gods… Jon… I’ll be shamed and convicted as an adulteress! They’ll make me do a Penance Walk!”

Jon gritted his teeth. That sounded like something Harry Hardyng might try. He’d resented Sansa for years and made no secret of how he favored his mistress, Bessie Varemark. Even in the North, stories had reached them of how Bessie pranced about the halls of the Eyrie in the gowns and jewels of its lady. Harry made a great show of doting on his mistress during both of her unsuccessful pregnancies, to the point where it was said that House Royce now refused to associate with them unless forced. He’d forced Lord Nestor to host Bessie at the Gates of the Moon, and famously made drunken japes about ending the reigns of “red-headed bitches.” When Jon first arrived at Winterfell, he’d received a letter from the man:

_To His Grace Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall from Harrold of the Houses Hardyng and Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Winterfell, Warden of the East, and Protector of the Vale, Greeting:_

_I am writing to thank you for taking care of my wife and children. I am afraid I find myself unable to reason with Lady Sansa anymore. You’ll find she is a willful woman, stubborn, and unable to accept her natural role as a wife and mother. Hopefully you shall succeed where I have failed and wrestle control of the North from her. I fear a great fight is ahead of you, Your Grace. But if anyone can bring her to heel, it should be a prince of the blood royal. If you prove successful, I will be perfectly willing to take the reigns of governance in the North once more so that you need not be troubled by such a duty in the years to come. I offer whatever assistance you may need in this regard. May the Seven bless you. My wife has a lesson to learn. One of humility. Hopefully you can teach it to her._

_In the process of teaching it to her, if and when you require a reprieve from my wife’s tempestuousness, do not hesitate to use my walls as a safehaven. You will find yourself more than welcome and I would be happy to provide you with a warm bed, good food, a sympathetic ear, and women far more agreeable than what awaits you up north. I imagine after just a few weeks with the Queen of Winter, we’ll have much to discuss._

_I wish you seven much-needed blessings for what is ahead of you._

_Your Very Sympathetic Friend and Loyal Subject,_

_Harrold Hardyng Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Winterfell._

He had no doubt that Arryn would love to use Sansa’s pregnancy as a “lesson”. _I gave him the perfect opportunity._

Jon swallowed, furious. He wasn’t going to let that man do that to Sansa. By Westeros law, Harrold Hardyng would be within his rights to have Sansa beaten, tried, shamed, banished, or even killed. Everything she’d worked for and built would be taken from her. Her home, her reputation, her dignity, her children…

And it wasn’t like the man was some petty lord Jon could wave away with a royal dismissal. He was Lord of the Eryie and Warden of the East in his own right, and some would argue for his rights to Winterfell and the North as well. Anyone who had a reason to resent Sansa--- former Bolton loyalists, perhaps--- would be eager to support him in tearing down his wife. He’d have enough support politically to do whatever he wished-- if he had the time and means.

 _I can’t let him have that. I won’t let it happen._ Jon bolted from the room.

 ~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

Her rooms had always been the warmest in Winterfell, even back when they belonged to her mother. While Sansa found solace in the cold more and more as the years went by, the heat of these rooms were a unique comfort to her for the memories they provided. Winter and cold were home, but so was the warmth of the chambers that had belonged to Catelyn Tully.

The memories of these rooms comforted her on the nights she fought with Harry, and then on the nights after he left. They got her through the hardest days, when she went to bed hungry, or aching from riding all day to disperse bandits or offer relief to people in outlying regions. The days when her fingers and toes were too cold to move properly despite the dozens of furs and wools.

When weeks of reconstruction work went to waste because the unfinished roofs and walls caved in from the sheer amount of snow. When her children pleaded with her to let them leave their rooms because they were forgetting what dirt looked like and she had to deny them so they wouldn’t freeze to death. When she had to see the frozen corpses of children that looked like Ned and Arya, and then burn the bodies as their parents wept. She came back to her lady mother’s rooms, felt the frigid winter melt away, and gained her lady mother’s strength.

Tonight was the first night she could remember being cold in these rooms. It wasn’t the bone-shaking, agonizing frigidity of the worst winter days, but there was a chill. Spring was here, and yet for the first time, she stood in her mother’s solar and shivered. 

She knew why, too. It’s because she was expecting there to be arms around her, and the embrace didn’t come.

The warmth of these rooms didn’t just come from the fires lit or the hot water pumped through the walls. When Sansa was a child, and she found herself afraid or upset--- maybe from a nightmare, or some sort of childish disappointment, or an injury--- her mother would hold her and kiss away her tears and troubles. That feeling of being embraced somehow remained in these chambers like a scent years after Lady Catelyn died. Sansa would come in and feel her mother’s embrace even when alone.

But over the past few months, that feeling altered. She still came here and felt embraced, loved, and comforted, but by a different person. They weren’t the soft, slender arms of her mother, they were the big, strong arms of her lover.

Sansa went years alone. From the last day she ever saw Jeyne Poole until the day of Ned’s birth, she had no one who loved her. When she first met her son, she realized with alarm that she’d forgotten what it was like to feel loved.

But even with the enormous comfort of Ned and Arya, they were children. They were the ones she supported and nurtured and comforted. And while that gave her strength and happiness, she had to be strong for them. There was no one else to be strong for her. To hold her. To be vulnerable with.

Jon changed that. When he first arrived, her delight over seeing the last shred of her old family again was tempered by a certain cynicism and wariness the years had given her. So yes, when he came, she was on her guard.

But Jon just wanted to help. He listened. He didn’t try to take anything, there were no strings attached, no caveats, no ulterior motives no matter how hard she searched for one. It almost scared her. It honestly seemed that all he wanted was to be there for her and the children. Offering support seemed enough of a gain for him.

Four days ago, she was reminded of the date and realized that she’d not bled the month before and that she was due that very day for her menses. But she couldn’t be sure. After all, Ned’s illness made her a wreck. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d missed her blood from stress. There was no reason to worry anyone. If she was wrong, she could have caused serious problems for nothing.

Sansa knew how Jon’s former bastard status affected him. She didn’t want to put him through the anguish of siring a bastard if it wasn’t true. So she waited.

Her blood didn’t come and at midday today, she realized she could smell residual smears of the onion stew they’d had for dinner two nights ago on one of the kitchen tables. And that her breasts continued to hurt despite the rest of the aches in her body from the near two moons of being hunched over her son’s bedside having gone away.

The whole afternoon was worry, to the point where Jon and a few others told her she ought to go lie down for the evening. And she did, psyching herself up to inform Jon that night when he finished putting the children to bed.

 She knew he’d be shocked, and upset. There was so much about the situation that terrified her. Harry would use this against her. Being an adulteress was a crime. He’d been away for years and it wasn’t like he was close by enough to arrange an encounter and fake the paternity. And Jon was the prince, a Targaryen. Targaryen bastards had a history of making trouble. She didn’t want to think what the king and queen would make of her pregnancy. She was terrified.

 But at least it was Jon. Jon might be horrified, she had told herself, but he’d still be kind and gentle. He’d hold her and comfort her. They’d figure it out. This wouldn’t be like the crises she’d suffered before. His arms would be around her and she wouldn’t be alone. 

When she told him, the things he said at first hurt and angered her, but she was too exhausted, too scared, too needy to maintain that anger for long. After all, she wasn’t the only one who was affected by this. So even in her anger, she mentioned that she let him into her heart. _I would never birth a child I didn’t want._

Sansa didn’t know if she could have this babe, but if she did, it wouldn’t be unwanted. And no child of hers could be a _bastard._ That word would never be used in his or her presence. She’d find a way to give her babe a proper name, she would. Sansa refused to bring a child into the world just to have it feel unwanted or unloved or less valuable. 

But she was so _afraid._ And soon, the fear, and the need for his arms around her took over. The awful, awful possibilities kept pouring out.

“Oh gods… Jon… What is Harry going to do to me? Jon… What is going to happen to me? I wanted to be good. I was so _good._ I was alone for so _long._ And we didn’t… Not until… Oh gods… Jon… I’ll be shamed as an adulteress! They’ll make me do a Penance Walk!” It just wasn’t fair. She’d been so _good._ She just wanted to be loved. _I didn’t hurt anyone… But I’ll lose everything. Why? What did I do to deserve such things?_

_Harry’s going to hurt me. He wants to be Lord of Winterfell and the Eyrie both, and make Bessie his Lady. He’ll use this and strip me naked and have me banished. Oh gods, what about Ned and Arya?_

She had to be strong. _In a second, Jon’ll be holding me. We’ll figure it out._

But those arms didn’t come. Instead, there were footsteps. And the door slammed. Sansa was alone. And she was cold. For the first time, she was cold in Catelyn Stark’s old chambers.

_I can’t be cold here. Not here._

Sansa sank to her knees, crying and crawling towards the fire, frantically trying to feed the flames and get the heat back.

 _Jon’s gone. He left._  

Of all the people in the world to run from her… Jon was the last one she’d thought would do such a thing.

But then, she thought that after Lady died, her father would come and hold her too. He held her briefly when the order was given and she realized what was happening. Then he left to kill her wolf, and she didn’t see him again all day. At first she convinced herself that Father was busy trying to save Lady’s life. That the horrible emptiness inside her was just nerves.

Maybe he was arranging for her wolf to be spirited out of the camp and sent back to Winterfell, or helping her run away, like Nymeria. Maybe he was finding some sort of replacement wolf body to trick the king and queen. And then tonight, he’d come to her and whisper to her that Lady was alive and well. 

But that didn’t happen. Dinner was silent that night, and her father took his leave of them quickly. He didn’t look her in the eye. He didn’t speak much at all.

Sansa told herself that Father was probably with Arya, comforting her over the butcher’s boy. Arya wouldn’t talk to her either, not that Sansa wanted to talk to her. Arya _hit_ her. Arya thought Sansa was a liar. Sansa only lied a little. At first she thought she knew what happened, but she became less sure as the hours wore on afterward. And when she was brought before everyone, she was so _scared._ She was supposed to _marry_ Joffrey, and he already hated her. But why? Maybe Arya _had_ hurt him before he attacked Mycah. She remembered Arya being so rude all day. And Arya did hit Joffrey at some point and…

Sansa became more sure it was Joffrey’s fault when Lady’s death was ordered and he smiled. He _was_ cruel. But it became confusing again afterwards. And she didn’t know how to talk about it. She wanted someone to help her. Maybe Father could explain. After all, if Joffrey was so cruel, why would Father have them betrothed? He’d explain, right? He’d come to her and comfort her and hold her and tell her Lady was alright.  Or he would tell her how sorry he was.

But no, he didn’t. He was probably with Arya. Arya probably called her a liar some more and kept Father with her. Father wouldn’t come to Sansa and explain and hold her because he was holding Arya. It didn’t matter how much Arya misbehaved or ruined things, everyone preferred her. She _had_ hit Joffrey. She was rude and beastly like she always was, but Father and Mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon and Jon and Jory and Ser Rodrik and Old Nan loved her more. And she made Father stay with her. Father didn’t care, he was too busy caring about Arya even though she hadn’t even lost her wolf. The whole thing was Arya and Nymeria’s fault, but Nymeria lived and Lady was dead and no one seemed to care. Father even killed Lady himself and then didn’t bother to say anything about it.

She kept crying in the nights after, feeling empty and alone. And her dreams were horrible. She kept having nightmares of Father killing her. She kept telling herself that it wouldn’t happen, that Father loved her. But the only time he ever met her eyes was in her dreams when he killed her. He wouldn’t even hug her. Too busy hugging Arya and serving that fat, old, drunk awful king who ordered Lady’s death. Father even liked that fat drunk more.

So many nights, Sansa kept thinking, ‘Father will come and kiss me goodnight before bed and explain and hold me until I fall asleep.’ But it didn’t happen. Instead, she had dreams of him holding her down and swinging Ice above her head.

So many years; so many nights alone. But she thought, this time, surely she’d have someone who loved her hold her through the night and help her through this. And she _did._ For two moons, Jon held her and comforted her through Ned’s illness. Unlike Ned and Arya she could cry in front of Jon. Sansa never cried in front of her children. She’d never forgive herself if she inflicted her troubles on them. They were too young for her tears. She had to be strong for them, not the other way around.

But Jon could and would be strong for her. He could hold her. He would. He _would._ Just like he did for so many nights.

But no. Not now. He wasn’t here. Sansa was alone, cold, scared, and confused. Jon was as absent as Father had been the nights after Lady died. Only this time, instead of ending a life, Jon put one in her. And that might be even more devastating. And he wasn’t here to help her figure out what to do.

 _Oh gods, what will I tell Ned and Arya?_ Sansa wasn’t sure how to explain it to them. Ned was six, Arya five. All they knew about babies was that lords made them with their lady wives. They knew consciously that Sansa was married to that man who sent them gifts on their Name Day from the Eyrie, the one with the Arryn name like they had. But they hadn’t seen Harry in three years. They saw Jon as their father. Once word got out, she’d be hauled away on charges of adultery. How would she explain to them what that meant, where the baby in her belly came from if not from the Eyrie, why she had to leave them, why people were calling Mama a whore?

She hoped maybe Jon could help her. He was so good with them. He loved them. She thought he’d help her figure it out. _But I also thought he’d be here with me,_ Sansa thought as she frantically threw kindling into the fireplace. _And he’s not. He’s left. I’m alone. I have to do this on my own._

Sansa stopped trying to make the fire bigger. She could walk into the blaze and still feel cold. She fell back and curled up on the floor, holding herself and sobbing.

 _It’s your own fault,_ she told herself. _You thought you had the man you dreamt of. You let yourself forget that life isn’t a song once more._ _The men from songs don’t exist. Your Florian was a drunk who was paid off by a man who intended to rape you and who betrayed your father. Your prince was a monster. Your husbands were a drunken Lannister and a brutish, irresponsible cad who openly despises you. Why would you expect Jon to stay? Why would he stay? This is nothing to him but a cold reminder of his old bastard status and a responsibility and trouble he doesn’t want. Men don’t want tears, fat bellies, complications, and bastards from their women. They want obedience, warm beds, pretty faces, pretty bodies, power, and trueborn heirs. That’s all you ever were to any man. Jon was no different no matter how warm his arms were. You were a stupid girl to think differently. And once again, you are going to pay dearly for letting your heart rule you. Cersei was right. Love is a poison, and I am stupid for ever wanting or believing in it. I’m stupid. I never learn._

Sansa hated herself. Now Ned and Arya would suffer for it too. She hated that most of all. No doubt when this came out, Harry would use it as an excuse to question their paternity. Bessie wanted her children to inherit the Eyrie. This was a golden opportunity to make it happen. _She’ll marry Harry and my babes might be made bastards._

Tansy was an option, but Sansa wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it. What if it didn’t work? She’d heard of it failing before. And even if it did, she remembered Lysa’s rants about the tansy tea. She didn’t want to end up mad like her aunt, smothering her sons, and obsessing over a man who didn’t want her. Ned and Arya deserved better than that. Jon was gone, but she might still be able to secure some help for Ned and Arya from someone. 

 _I have to be strong and think,_ she told herself as she sobbed on the floor, _I’m alone, and I have to fight for them. I have to find a way. I have to find options. I have to do it alone. No one is going to help me. No one is going to comfort me. It’s just me. If I’m going to shiver on the floor, I should at least figure out some solutions for them while I do it._

Sansa rolled away from the fire and hugged her knees to her chest. She couldn’t stand to look at the flames that wouldn’t warm her. They were a false hope just like everything else. _Flames don’t warm you, they burn you. Stupid girl. Men only hold you when it pleases them. The only one who ever held you just to comfort you was your mother. Mother is gone. Her arms are gone. Jon is gone. Everyone is gone. You’ll never be warm again. Stop thinking on it. Stop yearning for something that won’t happen. You’re alone now. You won’t be warm or loved again. All you can be is strong._

It took her hours before she could pull herself off the floor. A small part of her, the part she hated most, kept hoping he’d come back. But by the time the sun rose, she’d killed that part of her. Jon had likely gathered his household and saddled his horse already. She’d have to find some way to explain that to Ned and Arya as well. That was going to be the worst part.

Over the course of the night, Sansa had dreamt up a variety of options and solutions for herself. But she still wasn’t sure how she would explain any of this to her children. Even if she went with the tansy option, how would she tell Ned and Arya that Jon was gone and wasn’t coming back? They loved him so much.

 _Another father leaving them._ It was her fault. Her children’s tears would be her fault. She never should have let Jon play that role. He wasn’t their father. No matter how much he seemed to enjoy playing at it, she shouldn’t have expected him to be. But she had. She’d even _let_ her daughter call Jon ‘Papa’ a couple of times over the last couple of days without correcting her. _Why? Why did I do that?_  

A selfish, stupid desire, that was why she’d held her tongue and smiled when her daughter called Jon ‘Papa.’ And now Arya would wonder where her papa had gone and why he had left.


	2. Hugs, Not Delusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has deep thoughts, but not necessarily smart ones. Sansa confronts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bluecichlid for her awesome beta work!!!
> 
> Also, to all you people who are aware of what's happened on tumblr: Please don't let moronic hypocritical haters get you down. We have awesome members, awesome fic, and an awesome community. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCDgJiPBxfI

Chapter Two: Hugs, Not Delusions

Jon almost knocked over and ruined a bottle of ink as he sat at his writing table, pushing aside the heavy ledger--- Sansa always had him double-check her calculations every night as she had never developed a talent for figures. 

Jon lit a candle, stretched out a length of clean parchment, and grabbed a quill. Then he stopped, the weight of what he planned to do suddenly weighing heavy on is mind. _What you intend is not honorable._

The solution was simple in concept but thorny in morality. He had to remove Harry from the picture and marry Sansa in a respectable amount of time before the babe to be born. Not that Jon was without hangups in this regard. The truth was, seeing Harrold Hardyng answer for the slights against his wife had been a desire of Jon’s for a good long while. The only problem was that while abandoning one’s wife and taking up with a mistress was definitely frowned upon, it wasn’t exactly a crime. Sansa taking Jon as a lover would get her dragged before a court, stripped naked, and paraded through the streets for adultery.  But men weren’t held accountable to the same standards. Bastards and mistresses were considered par for the course. While Harry was a bit more blatant about it than most, he wasn’t considered a criminal. He could have a harem in the Eyrie if he wanted.

Jon found himself once again loathing the set of standards the world around him seemed to operate by. The same standards that declared the bastard born less worthy and honorable than trueborn people, even those who engaged in sadism and corruption. The same standards that gave little shits like Joffrey Barahtheon the ability to humiliate and kill Eddard Stark.

Harrold Hardyng sent a single letter to inquire after Ned while he was sick. _‘How is the boy’s health? We’ve heard troubling reports. I hope my son and heir hasn’t been put at risk by any neglect on your part, My Lady. I’d remind you that he is heir to the Vale as well as the North. If the Northern climate is threatening him, then I might feel compelled to demand he be transported to the more temperate region of the Eyrie, under the care of Lady Bessie. Send word promptly, My Lady, or I may feel compelled to send my own men for him.’_

Such a hypocritical, loathsome ponce didn’t deserve a wife like Sansa or children like Ned and Arya. That sweet, animated, clever little boy was ashen and barely alive, and all his father could do was speak of him like property and threaten his mother. And yet, Hardyng could do as he liked while his wife suffered. He was a man of status, and threatening him was dangerous. He had the resources of the Vale and numerous vassals at his disposal.

It was why, until now, Jon hadn’t acted. As much as he loved Sansa, as much as he loved Ned and Arya, as despicable as Harry’s actions were, none of it was enough to give Jon the excuse he needed to make him answer for his crimes. Harrold got away with citing responsibilities to the Vale and a man’s needs for his behavior. And despite the fact that everyone knew the Vale was run by a collection of lords who did the actual work, the excuses still stood. Harrold Hardyng Arryn was still Lord of the Vale. 

Jon’s stomach twisted. All those considerations seemed to matter so much less now. It went against everything Eddard Stark ever taught him to think this way, but… _Father is dead. His honor killed him. Thousands suffered and died for his honor. And what honor does Harrold Arryn have? What’s the point of honor if all it does is hurt people?_

He knew how it would look. Perhaps a hundred years from now, people would sing of the wicked bastard dragon prince seducing the Lady of Winterfell and killing her husband to claim her for himself. _Let them._ This wasn’t just about wanting to claim Sansa as his own. If it was about that, he’d have flown to the Vale and killed Harry moons ago when he realized that he loved his cousin. He might have hired an assassin to do it for him so that he could be spared all blame. _Perhaps I should have._

Jon shook his head, surprised with himself. It was a dark thought, but a tempting one. A message and package of gold to the House of Black and White, and within three fortnights they might be sitting at dinner and receiving news of how Lord Arryn tragically fell through the Moon Door in a drunken stupor. A collection of lords could be at the doors, ready to bow to Ned and declare him Lord of the Eyrie once and for all, Bessie Varemark and her womb no longer a threat. Sansa would spend a fortnight in mourning garb, and then they could be saying their vows before a Heart Tree while her belly was still capable of being hidden.

Ideas like this came more easily to him these days. The boy he’d been when he first joined the Watch might have been disgusted by such a notion. But then, that boy of four and ten would also have been disgusted by the idea of sharing a bed with Sansa.

_That boy also thought the Night’s Watch would be a proud order of noble knights and thought being a well-fed, well-educated, nobly-raised bastard was among the worst fates imaginable. That boy went on to kill wights, break his vows with a wildling girl, separate a nursing babe from his mother, be slaughtered by his own men, and resurrected by a Red Witch’s magic._

Jon groaned and thought of Ned and Arya. Harry was their father, and at least for that, the man deserved a fair and honorable death. If Jon resorted to letting some freak with a blade do his killing for him, what example would that set? _They deserve a father who will openly fight for their mother’s honor, not one who would go behind everyone’s back to steal her. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

That was one rule of his adoptive father’s that he should cling to, at the very least. That rule was the one that led him to cut Janos Slynt’s head from his shoulders, a good moment. Sansa called him her hero for doing that.

It wasn’t like Harry’s death was something that could be avoided. Not if Jon wanted to see his child born and Sansa safe. Marriages were hard to dissolve once they were consummated. Short of adultery on the bride’s part (which would result in the bride’s ruin), or evidence of the wedding being fraudulent or forced at sword point (which would result in Ned and Arya being declared bastards), there wasn’t really another way. Even pressuring the High Septon to dissolve a marriage would mean declaring the match null and stripping the children of their names and birthright.

Killing Harry wouldn’t be completely clean. But if Jon had to choose between being completely honorable and the health, safety, and happiness of his lover and children, he’d choose the latter. _Even Father falsely confessed to treason in order to protect Sansa, didn’t he?_ Jon could at least salvage some of his honor by challenging the man openly. Duels had been fought for a lady’s honor before. By right of Sansa being his kin, he’d be able to do it. He’d placate the other lords of the Vale afterwards by giving them more control of the region. As long as he had the support of his royal relatives, he’d be able to succeed.

 _You’re trying to rationalize this. Either this is honorable or it isn’t. Just acknowledge the lengths you’re willing to go to. Face your failings and make a choice. You need to act._ Jon swallowed.

Tansy tea was an option, he knew it. But Jon didn’t want that. A trueborn child with Sansa was something he wanted. Jon adored Ned and Arya, and he wanted to be their father, and he wanted children of his own blood as well. If a shit like Harrold Hardyng could give Sansa such beautiful, brilliant children, then surely Jon could do the same. He wanted Ned and Arya to have more siblings.

Sansa should be able to have more children. While his lover had never said she wanted them explicitly, the other things she’d confided in him made him believe this. When they’d discussed her naming her children after her father and sister, she told him how that was always her plan. “Even when in King’s Landing, I knew I’d have sons called Eddard, Robb, Bran, and Rickon and another Arya.” He’d noted her pained expression when Ned or Arya sometimes asked why they could not have brothers or sisters. She spoke of the days when they were babes with intense longing, lamenting how fast they grew.

Sansa said any child she chose to have would not be unwanted, she objected to him referring to what was growing inside her as such. That warmed his heart. She wanted children with him, surely. It wasn’t the babe itself. It was all the threats and problems surrounding its unexpected arrival.

 _She might take the Tansy, though._ He certainly didn’t want her to. Jon wouldn’t stand in her way if she did, but still… He wanted a babe with her. He wanted to give her the option to keep it without losing everything else. _I have to do this for her. She can’t feel forced into one position. She shouldn’t have to choose between her life and the life of our babe._ That would be the only choice facing her unless he began to write.

He ended up using far more ink and parchment than he’d originally anticipated.  His hand shook trying to write and re-write his letter and make plans.

Caution and careful planning was paramount. One poor move and he could be risking the life of his lover, and possibly his child. By the time he had finally composed legible messages to his aunt and half-brother and to Lord Arryn, the candle at his side was almost burnt to nothing. His personal seal---- a direwolf’s head crossed with a dragon---- took the last of its wax. 

_To His Grace Aegon of the House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name… titles, etc and Her Radiance Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, titles, etc…_

_The young lordling Eddard Stark Arryn is fully recovered. However, the show of neglect that his father has shown, sending one brief letter while his son was at death’s door and his wife at her wit’s end has made it impossible for me to ignore the man’s behavior. Lady Stark has suffered dishonor at his hands for too long. Too long for her to continue to suffer and endure. I fear if she continues to face such insults, she shall be undermined to a degree that shall threaten stability in the North and possibly the Eyrie. Therefore, I believe that, as her kinsman, it is my duty to defend her honor._

_I intend to ride for the Vale at the earliest possible time. Lord Hardyng will be expecting me, though not the nature of my visit until I arrive. I request your support in this endeavor, which I assure you shall be conducted properly._

_Yours Truly,_

_Jon of House Targaryen, titles, etc._

His message to Harry was a bit less honest.

_To Harrold Hardyng Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Winterfell, Warden of the East and Defendor of the Vale from Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall, greeting:_

_My Lord, it is my pleasure to inform you that thankfully, after weeks of destructive illness, your son Eddard is recovering quite well. The fever, congestion, vomiting, and exhaustion have abated entirely. He still has a slight cough and has to sleep a great deal, but he is up and moving once more and gaining back his strength. We are overjoyed, as the situation seemed close to hopeless. But your heir is safe and on his way back to full health._

_With this struggle abated, I felt it time to take you up on the gracious offer you extended to me when I first arrived at Winterfell, at least partially. I would very much like to meet you and to visit the Vale. Your son’s ailment prevented me from taking advantage of your offer earlier, but with the crisis finished, I feel no guilt in taking temporary leave of Winterfell and its lady. I believe we have some important matters to discuss concerning your wife and the future of your family, the North, and the Eyrie. Such discussions will require the presence of my aunt or half-brother (the matters are of interest to the crown), and one of them shall meet me in the Vale._

_Do not hasten any preparations or feel the need to accept me as your guest at once, as my relatives and I will not be requiring extreme hospitality on your part. I plan to reside at the Gates of the Moon or in Gulltown when I first arrive. I do have my reasons for this, mostly concerning your wife. I feel coming to the Vale is urgent, so I will be riding out before you will be able to reply to this letter (please do not send word until I arrive in your domain, as I don’t want to trouble Lady Sansa with the nature of our visit). As I would not want to impede on your hospitality without personal acceptance of my presence from you, I feel it best that I just arrange for lodging elsewhere for when I arrive. If you might arrange to come to meet me personally, I’d be quite grateful. I am eager to see the Vale and perhaps enjoy you as a guide for when I come._

_We have a lot to discuss. I believe an understanding might be reached between us. I am very eager for us to meet and look forward to making your acquaintance at last, Lord Harrold._

_Best Wishes,_

_Jon Targaryen, Prince of Westeros_

The sun began to rise. Jon swallowed. He knew the messages sounded nearly mad. But it would get at least Daenerys’s attention. Even if she ended up flying to the Vale to stop him, she’d give him the opportunity to explain himself. And while she might rage at him for the folly of begetting a bastard on the Lady of Winterfell, she’d relent. She’d at least understand the trouble that could arise from the Lord of the Eyrie charging the Lady of Winterfell for adultery over a Targaryen bastard.

The queen wasn’t exactly the type who had much patience for men mistreating their wives. At least, not anymore. Word was that Aegon had tried to “reign her in” from taking paramours while entertaining extra bedmates of his own since Jon had left. It ended with Daenerys reminding him that while he was king, she was still the Mother of Dragons.

He had to be careful with Harry. He couldn’t let the man know why he was coming, but he also didn’t want to violate guest right. And arriving without any notice would raise red flags. 

 _I’d have to leave Sansa, temporarily, but still…_ Jon didn’t like the idea of leaving Winterfell, of leaving this family behind. Last time he left Winterfell behind… _No, it has to be done._

Jon knew there was risk involved. The Young Falcon was an acclaimed warrior. _But I died setting out to save Arya. I can die again trying to protect Sansa as well. Not just for Sansa. For Ned and Little Arya as well._

The prince changed his clothes and washed his face when he finished, moving as quickly as he could and keeping the letter in his sight before leaving his chambers.

The parchment weighed heavy in his pocket as he walked back to Sansa’s chambers. He didn’t hesitate to knock and risk waking her. Sansa rose early by habit, and Jon needed to inform her of his plan before he sent the letter. Her voice was choked when she asked who it was. 

“It is Jon, My Lady. I am sorry for the early hour, but this is of the utmost importance.” Jon cursed himself for the formality with which he spoke. _I sound like I’m answering a bloody court petition. What is wrong with me?_

Heavy footfalls uncharacteristic of the Lady of Winterfell preceded the door swinging open. Bloodshot eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and matted hair greeted him. She ushered him in quickly, barring the door behind him.

“I know you’re leaving,” she told him in a frigid tone.

“You do?” The surprise he felt was only momentary. Sansa could be extremely paranoid. She had spies all over the North, including in Winterfell. For all he knew, some maid had collected one of the scrapped letters once he’d gone to change his clothes. Whoever the maid was, though, she was excellent. _Daenerys and Aegon ought to employ my cousin as Mistress of Whispers._

Sansa’s full lips were pursed. “I’m not stupid. I mean, you’re the long-lost Prince Who Was Promised, the hero of the Wall, the son of ice and fire. The man with the heroism of Rhaegar Targaryen and the honor of Eddard Stark. It was bad enough when I was the willful fallen queen cast aside and estranged from her husband. Now I’m an adulteress with a strike on your honor nesting in my belly. You had your fun playing Lord of Winterfell, but now I’ve become too inconvenient for you. I’ve ruined myself, as if I wasn’t ruined already.”

Those words were a shockwave. He stepped towards her. “Sansa---“

“---No.” She held up a hand. “I won’t be coddled, Jon. I don’t need to be. Let me finish, for the sake of my children.” The desperation in her voice, the complete and utter pain was too much for him to deny. He fell limp, words dying in his throat. Sansa took a deep breath. “Please be assured that I will do everything in my power to keep you from being stained by this. I am considering tansy---“

His heart seemed to shatter, but his voice returned, briefly. “---Sansa---!”

“---Jon, _please_.” Sansa shuddered. “I may take it, I may. But even if I don’t, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and House Targaryen from the consequences. After you leave, I’ll no longer have a male guardian. Harry’s been telling the world for years that I’m an impetuous shrew. I’ll make sure everyone knows I drove you away. After doing so, I wantonly exploited my new freedom like so many unsupervised women before me, and took a lover. He can be the sire of this child. Your brother and aunt won’t have to worry about another Blackfyre being raised in the famously troublesome North. I’ll make arrangements for Wyman Manderly to serve as Lord Protector once I’m in disgrace so Ned and Winterfell are taken care of. He’ll make sure Ned and Arya’s rights are protected from any of Harry’s dealings. After the birth, the babe and I will both join the Faith. It’ll be done quietly. No one will ever need know, and even if someone found out, the child will not just be a bastard, but a bastard owned by the Seven. No threat. All I ask is that the crown offer some support against any suspicions that might be cast on Ned or Arya’s paternity in the wake of this. After that… Nothing. I’ll just be an embarrassing memory.”

She looked at the floor wearily. “I’ve considered the options, you see. Tansy’s the easiest one. But… There have been cases where it hasn’t worked. And even if it did… My Aunt Lysa took it in her youth. Not on purpose, it was a trick by her father. But she agonized over it. I believe it may have helped drive her mad. If I end up like that… I can’t serve my people. I can’t be a proper mother to my children. It’s not a guarantee, of course, but it gives me pause and---“

The Lady of Winterfell looked at him again. “Forgive me, Your Grace. You needn’t be burdened with my concerns. I’ve troubled you enough. I’m sorry. And… I’m sorry for my behavior earlier. I wasn’t in my right mind. I overstepped myself. Just know… I am thinking clearly now, and I promise I won’t be of any trouble to you in the future. I’m sorry the end to your visit had to end under these circumstances, but I do hope you still might have some fond memories. Please don’t hold my foolishness against Ned or Arya. They are good children, as you’ve seen. They deserve better than this.”

 _You deserve better than this._ Dismay consumed him. Where was the woman who took the North back from the Boltons? Who rebuilt her ancestral home? Who stood against her husband’s attempts to wrestle her lands from her, braving the struggles of raising two children and ruling a kingdom on her own in order to preserve her rights? The woman who believed so strongly in her rights and place as a Stark of Winterfell and the leader of the North that she faced down war, winter, the disruption of her family life, and literal armies of people eager to take her birthright from her?

Sansa didn’t give up when the Lannisters took her father’s head, imprisoned her, abused her, and married her to Tyrion Lannister. She didn’t give up after the wars nearly took ever other family member she had left to her. She didn’t give up when Winterfell was burnt. She didn’t give up when she was at the mercy of Petyr Baelish in the Vale. Or when she had to lead the war effort through the chaotic, winter and war-ravaged North to face down maniacs like Ramsay Bolton. She didn’t give up when her husband threatened to shame and abandon her if she didn’t give him control of her lands. She didn’t give up when he made good on those threats and left her to run the North and raise her children on her own.

She’d done so much even when she’d lost everyone. People said she couldn’t escape the Lannisters, she did. They said she couldn’t retake the North and brave the winter, she did. They said that she was just Baelish’s puppet, yet she continued to rule and win the war even after a battle at Moat Cailin took him. They said she couldn’t possibly pull through the war, vanquish the Boltons, or rebuild Winterfell, she did. They said she couldn’t rule or run a household without a husband by her side, she did.

So how was it possible that she was giving up now? She’d clearly spent the night working out in her head how she was just going to allow her fall from grace, her loss of everything she’d ever loved and worked for. Why? How?

He couldn’t allow her to be defeated like this. He couldn’t stand another moment of this. Jon hurried to get close to her.

“Please, no!” Her recoil proved a nightmare come to life. Her relative composure was gone as she turned away and clutched herself, tears falling from shut eyes. He’d reached for her in a desperate, but clearly benevolent manner, clearly going for an embrace. But you’d have thought he’d raised an angry hand to her. In a second flat, she went from bitter yet stoic adult to terrified child.

“Please, let me…”

“Stop it! Stop it!” she spat at him, looking over a hunched shoulder. “Stop trying to prove what a _good man_ you are. You are a good man, Jon, alright? Among the best. As good a man that can exist. But you are still a man and I can’t afford to forget that again. It’s not kindness, Jon. Regardless of whatever kind words or warm embraces you want to show me, it doesn’t change things. You’re leaving. I’ve accepted that. But I’ve got a terrible weakness towards hope, towards stupid romanticism despite everything. I’ll seize upon the smallest thing and use it to blind myself to reality. And it always results in messes like this. And no matter how many times it happens, no matter how many times I tell myself that there are no true heroes, I keep forgetting. I can’t have that provoked again. It’s too cruel. So just stop. Another disappointment will kill me. I know it. Just leave. I know you will. So do it while I’m still prepared for it. I’ve killed my belief in a happy ending. Let me burn the body.”

 _Gods, how did I manage to do this?_ He’d crushed her. Without meaning to, he’d managed to dismantle her ability to believe things could end well. She couldn’t bear to listen to him try to argue with her, or protest. She wouldn’t accept his touch. He took a deep breath and tried to adopt a formal tone, swallowing his horror as he reached into his jerkin and held the letter to his aunt and half-brother out to her.

“My Lady,” he told her, resisting the urge to scream, “I will not try to argue with you. However, it is of the utmost importance that you read this before I take my leave of you. Whatever your plans are, arrangements do have to be made on my part, and it is imperative that you are aware of them. Once you have read it, we can finish here once and for all if that is your wish.”

There was a strangled noise in her throat, but she lifted her shoulders and took a deep breath. When she turned, he saw the face of the Lady of Winterfell again.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Sansa took the message and opened it as she went to sit on the sofa by her fireplace. Jon winced. He’d need to recopy the message now that the seal was broken.

Sansa wiped her eyes before reading in earnest. Jon held his breath, standing where he was as he saw her blue eyes go from a slow crawl along the lines of text to hurried pace. When she finished, she dropped the paper and looked at him, her mouth open.

Jon went to stand over her, looking at her with dismay. “How could you think I would ever abandon you like that? You or our children? Do you honestly believe me so cold?”

Her eyes flickered. “I did.” 

His mouth went dry. Suddenly, anger seized him. “How could you? Has our time together meant nothing to you? You honestly think me some heartless monster? I am _not_ Harrold Hardyng!” 

Now that she was no longer crying and afraid, the unfairness of her reaction hit him full force. Jon felt seriously wronged. He loved her, and he thought she loved him. How could she think such awful things of someone she loved? Perhaps what they’d shared was all some stupid delusion. Jon let himself believe that he’d earned a place in her family, her heart. That maybe she saw him the same way he saw her: as the answer, the person who could finally make her happy and give her what she needed. Instead, she apparently saw him as a heartless cad, another monster seeking to use her, someone who would take his pleasures and leave his lover and his child to suffer the consequences. 

_I thought I finally found a place where I fit. But maybe she never saw it that way._

To his utter amazement, she began to grow angry herself. “Can you really find fault with me for having doubts?”

“You mean thinking I was going to abandon you and my own child to your enemies? Yes. I quite resent your belief that I’d be so cruel. Couldn’t you trust me at all?”

“I did trust you,” Sansa replied, “If I didn’t trust you, you’d have never known of this. I’d have taken the tansy tea or cast you out of my home without you ever knowing. Instead, I told you the truth. I expected that you would be shocked and upset, but that you’d at least be comforting and kind for my sake. Your response was to speak of me like I was a possession, describe my family and I as ‘destroyed’, and refer to our child as an unwanted bastard.”

Jon stepped back and swallowed heavily. “I’d not meant to say that out loud,” he told her, embarrassed, “Nor did I mean to insult you.”

The look on her face clearly communicated that this meant nothing to her. She continued.

“I replied in anger, insisting that my family wasn’t destroyed, but I also mentioned letting you into my heart and insisted that any child I birthed could never be unwanted.”

 _Yes, you did._ That was a point that made him feel better, actually. Her acceptance, the words about letting him into her heart, even her anger proved strangely reassuring. Sansa displayed strength and will with that, two of the traits that made him fall for her in the first place, and it worked to remind him that she could and would rise to any challenge posed to her. However, what Sansa said next shook him to his core. 

“Then I began to cry and confide in you. And I started panicking about the very real dangers that faced me as a result of this, expecting that you’d hold me and try to reassure me. That expectation was the thing that gave me the courage to tell you in the first place. But instead, you ran from the room, leaving me to spend the night alone, terrified, and crying.”

 _Oh gods._ Jon felt his insides cave in. _Of course, you bloody fool._

He’d just been so determined to hurry and fix things that he’d not even thought of it. Back at the Wall, he rarely had any time for tears. It was easier to offer time to listen and give support to, say, Sam in the early days when there were hordes of Others, starving Free Folk, Red Women, and wars at hand. But as time went on and problems became more immediate, there simply wasn’t any opportunity to give emotional comforts. He was too preoccupied with handling calamities themselves.

During Ned’s illness, he’d held Sansa and little Arya close and offered them sweet words and comforts. While he definitely had some matters he could attend to, such as handling some of Sansa’s responsibilities as Warden of the North for her while she nursed her son, the things he could do beyond emotional support were limited. Jon could go over accounts and hear petitions, but he couldn’t cure Ned’s illness. Not even Maester Brendal could do that. What he could do was be a shoulder to cry on in the night. 

The dangers posed by this issue were things Jon felt he could address, and things he had to address them immediately. He could neutralize Harry as a threat, or at least try to. And time _was_ limited. Jon was no maester, but he knew the human body well enough to understand that. Sansa was two moons along. They couldn’t be sure how long it would take for gossip to spread and even get back to the Vale. If they wanted to have this child and save the family, action had to be taken quickly. The existence of this babe removed any question of delay or hesitation.

There would be many, particularly in the Vale, who would cry foul if they didn’t handle things cleanly and quickly. And time allotted for travel would complicate things considerably.

Jon felt it was his responsibility to spare Sansa as much pain as possible, to defend her honor, and to protect his family. The best way to do that, in his mind, was to address the issue promptly and intelligently. Working out a solution, though, took time, and it took careful thinking. He couldn’t just march into the Vale alone, kill Harry, and then march back to Winterfell to make Sansa his bride. He needed support or there’d be Hell to pay from the lords of the Vale, and possibly the North.

It could still result in extreme dishonor for Sansa and outcry even if he did marry her, and Sansa deserved better than that. She shouldn’t feel responsible for any outcry, and she shouldn’t have to suffer the scorn of her vassals or other members of the nobility. Jon had to do right by her, by Ned and Arya, by the North, by his aunt and brother, by the whole realm. Balancing those responsibilities required a lot of work. Quick work, but diligent work. 

Now though… _I couldn’t have spared her a few minutes of reassurance?_ It was just that when he saw her anger, he saw a fighter, not someone who would be spending the whole night crying and giving up any belief that she could be happy or loved. Sansa wasn’t Sam, who would cry at the prospect of going on a ship or getting blisters from swinging his practice blade. For almost two years, Jon didn’t see Sansa cry, even when recounting the deaths of their lost loved ones, or her struggles through the winter, or the wars, or her humiliations at Harry’s hands. It wasn’t until the prospect of losing her son to illness, a prospect she was more or less powerless to stop, was presented to her that he saw her break down even a little. And even then, she hadn’t given up. Jon hadn’t thought for a second that he’d left his lover believing that he’d left her for good.

But really, it was stupid for him not to realize that that was exactly what he’d done. His mind was so focused on addressing the matter as quickly and intelligently as possible that he’d not even registered just how their interaction had gone. How he must have presented himself. When it was all laid out to him, though, it seemed obvious. _Damn it._

It was the Wall all over again. Just like when he hadn’t realized just how much he’d alienated his brothers as Lord Commander, or the rebellion that was brewing against him. He’d been so focused on placating Stannis, keeping people fed, preparing for the oncoming winter and the Others, dealing with the wildlings, and later stopping Ramsay Bolton and saving Arya that he’d not realized how he was losing his men until the blades entered his body. Or when he hadn’t realized how he’d come off as a bully to his brothers in his early days at the Wall until Donal Noye sat down and explained it to him. Now this. _What is wrong with me? I keep repeating the same mistake._

Now he’d hurt the last person in the world he’d ever, ever want to hurt. The thought of any harm coming to Sansa scared and angered him so much, his only thought was to immediately run and protect her from the dangers she spoke of. _I might have mentioned that I was doing that before I left her, at the very least._

He never imagined in a million years that Sansa would think he was leaving her for good. Not strong, immovable, ever-hopeful Sansa, who even in her tears would nurse her son back to health after the maesters told her the boy was on death’s door. Who reacted to the destruction of Winterfell by rebuilding it throughout an awful winter. Who went to war, as a young maiden with no combat experience, against the Boltons and the Freys. Who still carried on despite everything. Who seemed to have accepted his support and love with such enthusiasm and faith.

_But I also never thought that my brothers would think I had turned into Stannis’s puppet and a turncloak. I never imagined that I was making them suspect me or that I was turning them to outright rebellion. I never imagined that I made Pypar and Grenn and the others think I was a posturing bully when I first arrived. I always fail to explain myself, or realize how I’m affecting people._

And of course Sansa would think he left her. How many other people in her life had left her, had dropped her the second she couldn’t give them what they wanted or she became a liability to them? He knew Harry wasn’t the first. There was Joffrey and Cersei betraying her trust with Lord Eddard’s death. There was Robb, who didn’t trade for her during the wars. Then, when she was married to Tyrion, he’d placed Jon ahead of her in the succession (a right Jon rejected when the will was brought to light years after he’d refused Stannis’s offer. His belief that Winterfell belonged to Sansa was only reinforced after she’d taken back the North). There was the breaking of her betrothal to Joffrey once the Tyrell alliance became important to the Lannisters (a blessing, but still a perfect example of how she was rejected). There were the Tyrells themselves, who had taken them into her company in order to marry her and her claim to Winterfell to Willas, but then completely cut her off the second the Lannisters married her to Tyrion. Even Lord Eddard killed Lady, then continued Sansa’s betrothal to Joffrey despite the incident.

Jon hoped Sansa would believe him the exception to this. And now it was clear to him that until last night, she had. She was right: if she didn’t trust him, he’d likely never have known of this. But she’d told him. And she didn’t have to. It was early enough that she could have just taken the tansy without a word to him.

It wasn’t like she was against using it. That had been the plan once they fell into bed with each other. She’d take it every day to keep his seed from quickening within her. He even saw her take it the second day after they’d spent the night together.

Likely, the babe was made on the last or second to last night or so before Ned’s illness grew serious. As soon as his cough turned into a debilitating fever, they’d stopped coupling. Obviously, nursing her son had distracted her. An understandable situation. 

But now the seed had taken root. Long enough for some signs to begin. But he’d not have had a single idea until she told him. He could have gone on completely ignorant. But she’d been honest with him. She told him the truth.

And his response was to run from her chambers. _Seven Hells. I’m lucky she hasn’t taken the tea already._ At least, she implied that she hadn’t. But as had been established, he’d already damaged her trust in him.

Jon sank to his knees. “My Lady, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I swear to you, I never meant to hurt you. I ran to go and address the situation as quickly as possible and relieve you of your fears and troubles. I wanted to see to any threats as best as I could so you needn’t live with any fear, loss, or dishonor I may have caused you. I wanted to give you a way out at once, and crafting one for you completely occupied my attentions for the night. I was so scared of you being hurt. I got caught up in trying to fix the problem and created a new one. I only wanted to help you. I’d do anything to protect you. That’s all I want. I love you. That hasn’t changed, regardless of how poorly I acted.”

Sansa stared at him long and hard. “Jon… I spent the whole night alone. How many more nights alone do I have ahead of me? Are you going to just march away whenever you feel there’s a problem you need solving without a word?”

“I… I just want to protect you. I have to.”

She sniffed and pulled back a bit. “What makes protecting me your obligation more than anyone else’s, Jon? I’ve had a father who betrothed me to the son of murderers and traitors. I’ve had a betrothed who had me beaten by his men. I’ve had an aunt who tried to kill me. A brother who refused to trade for me and later signed away my birthright. I’ve had men who swore fealty to my family literally pierce my loved ones full of arrows and then later go to war with me so they could steal my lands. I’ve had a caretaker that engineered my family’s downfall just so he could rape me someday. I have a husband who has left me and is now the greatest threat to my children and I. 

“If all those people couldn’t or wouldn’t protect me, then why should you be expected to? I never asked it of you. You’ve warmed my bed and planted a seed in my belly, but you’re not the first to do either, nor are you my husband. You’re not even truly my half-brother. I’ve had fathers, husbands, brothers, kings, knights, vassals, aunts, and uncles either fail to protect me or do me harm. Why should it fall to you to keep me safe?”

He gaped at her for a second. He wasn’t sure he understood the question. _How does it_ not _fall to me to keep you safe?_ But then, her logic wasn’t exactly faulty. Still… “Because I love you.”

“Harry claimed to love me. When we were first wed, he claimed that he was besotted.”

“I’m not Harry,” Jon told her, truly distressed. Sansa fixed him with a careful look.

“Jon, when Harry married me all those years ago, he did see something he loved. He saw a pretty young woman with an old name and a great birthright who would not only warm his bed and give him sons, but also make him the most powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms, if not a king. He saw a girl who would look good by his side and aid him in going from the orphaned son of an insignificant knightly House to being the greatest landowner in the realm, a Lord Paramount twice, possibly thrice over, the Warden of both the East and North, with more land under his domain than any lord in Westeros.

“I was the confirmation of his importance, a grand destiny he saw for himself after years of being overlooked. All he had to do was bed a beautiful young girl, and she’d give him half the realm, possibly more. I was a fantasy come to life to him, sex and every bit of power he never thought he could have. He loved that. And when I failed to give him all the power he thought he’d get from me, that was when his love ended. I wasn’t what he thought I was. I wasn’t what he loved. I was the denial of a promise made to him. There are countless men who could and would have wanted me for what I represented. Winterfell. The North. All wrapped up in a pretty young package.”

Jon clenched his teeth. “That isn’t what I want from you. You know that. I could have taken Winterfell more than once. I haven’t. I don’t look at you and see power or a claim. I see---“

“---You do see Winterfell, though not as others see it. You see home and family rather than power or glory or wealth. You see Ned and Arya and children that could look like us. You see a place you’ve been looking for since the first day you realized you were a bastard. You see a woman to save from a miserable marriage, who could give you all the things you never dared to dream of: a family, home, children. You see honor and the place you always wanted for yourself. You see yourself as a Stark, as a patriarch, as an honorable husband and father and lord. You see the chance to be a hero.

“And no, you’re not like Harry or several other suitors I’ve had. I doubt you have any intention to relegate me to the place of a brood sow, ornament, or status symbol. Unlike so many men I’ve known, you seem to enjoy women displaying power and strength. You see a lot of things, things you love. But I’m not sure if you would love me as I am with all of those other things stripped away. With all of that gone, maybe your heart beats for a woman who spends her time exploring the wilderness and killing enemies, a woman who wants to join you in the practice yard for fights. Not a woman who prefers needles to dirks and words to actions, who doesn’t like the idea of running off to battle troublesome lords, and needs you to hold her as she cries through the night.” 

Jon’s mouth went dry and he sat beside her at once, pulling her to him. Her posture was stiff and she recoiled somewhat. Jon sighed. “There are few things sweeter to me,” he told her, “than feeling your head against my chest, holding you close, having you with me.”

There was an odd pause. Sansa looked deep into his eyes, apparently looking for some hint of a lie. Nothing about what he said was untrue, though. _Please, Sweetling. Believe me. I’m so sorry._ The Lady of Winterfell shivered and then relaxed, curling up against him. His heart seemed to beat again. He kissed her cheek and stroked her hair, loving her more in that moment than he ever had before. _Thank you._

 But after this night, it wasn’t enough to just coax her back into his arms. She deserved more than that. Jon wasn’t content to do the bare minimum, so he continued.

“I like you strong, that’s true. But I like _your_ strength, even though it doesn’t come with a blade. The way you withstand so many struggles, the way you take care of everyone and everything, the way you lead despite everyone second-guessing you. I fell in love with that. That strength that made me forget, like the fool I am, that you can spend the night crying, no matter how strong you may be. I have a poor habit of becoming so fixated on solving an immediate issue that I ignore the effects my actions can have on others. It’s what got me gutted at the Wall. And now it’s hurt you. I’m sorry for that. But please believe me when I say I truly do love who you are. The strength I took for granted last night is the reason I love you. Or, at least, one of the reasons.”

Sansa took a deep breath, shuddering against him and resting her head against his chest. He sighed, loving that feeling. His hand went to her hair, a bit tangled but still cool and soft and lusciously red.

“I’m scared, Jon.” Sansa whispered. 

“I am too, Sweetling,” he admitted. “But I promise you, we’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She looked at him curiously. “Tell me then. What are you going to do exactly?”

Jon looked at her in surprise. He thought from the letter he showed her that she’d be able to fill in the blanks herself. It wasn’t particularly complicated, after all. He attributed it to her distress, however, and calmly explained it to her.

To his dismay, Sansa groaned. “I was afraid of that,” she said, “Jon, your idea is absolutely mad. Not even a prince can just march into one of the realms, kill its lord paramount, and hope to get away with it. And what if you were to lose?”

“You don’t think I can win?” he asked, affronted.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can. I just can’t know that you will. And even if your victory was assured, what makes you think you’d honestly have the support of the crown? ‘Oh yes, Jon, we’ll be happy to let you disrupt the peace of the Vale and the North in order to help you marry your cousin under suspicious circumstances so that your bastard can be born legitimate.’ You don’t think that it won’t occur to them that they could avoid far more trouble simply by having me or our babe killed?” 

“Daenerys would never---“ 

“---What about Aegon?”

Jon paused. He didn’t much like his half-brother. He wouldn’t put it past him to kill a woman with child to prevent a disruption. The man already had a lot of resentment against the Starks, and towards Jon. Daenerys had let go of those same hang ups following the battle against the Night’s King when Jon came to her aid. The two were on good, even friendly terms. That, coupled with Sansa bending the knee, managed to cool the dragon queen’s ire towards the Starks. Aegon was another story. _That would be exactly what he’d do._

“I’ll write a new letter. Just for Daenerys. She… She’ll work with us. She’ll keep this private.”

Sansa didn’t look convinced. “Jon, even if she were to support you, the outcry in the Vale could be catastrophic if Harry died by your hand. Even in a clean, fair fight, there’d be discontent. Especially if people know you only did it to take his wife. And if you were to lose, I’d be exposed and accused of not only conspiring to murder the Lord of the Vale, but also of bringing about the death of one of the last Targaryens. There could be war. And with you dead, what chance of support could I possibly hope for?”

Jon’s stomach sank. Her points were valid, but he honestly wasn’t sure there was another way out short of tansy tea. “He can’t live, Sansa. You must be free.” 

“Jon… Your heart is in the right place but… There have to be options. There are things that can be done to remove Harry with minimal conflict but just charging in to duel him for my honor is not that way.”

“So what? You want me to hire an assassin? It wouldn’t be clean, Sansa. I may be a wife-stealing, adulterous, oath-breaking bastard, but I still have my honor.”

She sighed. “I respect that, though the assassin option does seem better. But barring that, I can think of a few things that could be done to make this safer. If you’re not above assassination… How do you feel about bribery and deceit of another nature?” 

He swallowed, remembering Mance and Melisandre’s glamour, spying on the Wildlings, and sending Val out beyond the Wall under Stannis Baratheon’s nose. “I have my limits, my lady, but I am not above deceit altogether.”

Sansa smiled softly at him. “That’s why you’re alive. And staying that way is another reason you should have spent the night with me instead of running off on your own.”

He shivered. “My lady, as I said, I do have my limits." 

“Jon, my idea may not even require any blood being shed.”

His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”


	3. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight breaks out at Winterfell. Jon leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bluecichlid for her awesome Beta work.
> 
> Stepdad!Jon feels: prepare to have them.

Chapter Four: Departure

Sansa:

“Remember, it’s not just about being strong, it’s about being fast, and really moving and looking. So, we pivot, like this.”

Sansa sat upon the fence. Needle, thread, and cloth in hand, she watched her lover demonstrate to both her children how to move with their light practice blades. The Lady of Winterfell tried not to laugh as her children clumsily mimicked Jon’s movements.

“On the balls of your feet, Ned,” Jon told him, showing him, “Just like this. Good, now we swing the blade---“

Ned’s practice blade went flying, right into a large tower of straw, causing it to tumble to the ground. Both adults dropped their things and hurried to make sure no one was hurt. One of the stable boys was knocked over, but he was laughing.

Sansa’s six-year-old started crying. “I-I-I’m baaaaad!”

His mother hurried over and pulled him close, wiping her son’s tear stained cheeks. “No, Sweetling, come on, you’re not bad. It was an accident. No one was hurt. Just a little toppled hay. Come here, poppet.” 

“I _am_ bad!” Ned wailed, “That’s why Uncle Jon’s leaving!”

Sansa and Jon glanced at each other, horrified.

“No, Lad,” Jon said, hurrying over and pulling the boy to him, “That’s not why I’m going. And I’m only going to be gone for a little while.”

“Are you leaving because of me?” Arya asked then, coming closer and looking down at her own practice blade in embarrassment.

“No, no, Sweetling,” Jon told her, exasperated, “Neither one of you are why I’m leaving. I have to go to the Vale and talk to your father, that’s all. And when I’m done, I’m coming right back.”

They’d told both of them this numerous times over the past few days, but every so often, it would come up again.

“Are you bringing our father back with you?” Ned asked, “Lord Harrold?”

“N-no.” 

“Why do you need to go to the Vale?” The boy asked, “Can’t you just send a raven?”

“This is something I need to talk to him about face to face. That’s all.”

“No, you’re leaving. You’re going to the Vale just like he did,” Ned insisted, “And when he went to the Vale, he didn’t come back. And now you’re leaving and you won’t come back either.”

Sansa started to shake. She could still remember Rickon, all of three, crying and insisting that once Father left, he wouldn’t come back. “Ned, please. Of course Jon is coming back.”

“No he’s not.”

Jon’s face was pained. “Of course I’m going to return. Why wouldn’t I?”

Her son sobbed some more. “Because I’m a bad, stupid boy who can’t even swing a sword right. Arya’s five and a girl and _she_ didn’t lose her sword. I’m _six_ , I’m almost a man grown and I’m supposed to be Lord of the Eyrie and Lord of Winterfell someday. And I can’t even keep hold of my blade. And I threw up on Longclaw.” 

Ned did, in fact, throw up on Longclaw weeks ago. He was lying in bed, sick, and Jon was showing him his sword to cheer him up. All of a sudden, there was half-digested beef stew, potatoes, and spinach all over the white direwolf hilt and Valyrian steel. He cried like mad about this constantly.

Jon sighed. “Ned, there’s nothing wrong with Longclaw. See?” He half-unsheathed the sword. “No vomit or anything. Like new. It’s fine. Everyone drops their blade. I dropped my blade plenty of times when I was your age. That’s why we practice.” Jon slipped the sword back and put a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I’d leave you forever. I love you two very much.” 

“He’s our papa, Ned!”

Sansa’s son glared at his sister. “You’re so stupid. You don’t even remember, do you?” He pulled away from Jon and pointed at him. “He’s _not_ our father, Stupid. Our father is Lord Arryn, he’s our real father. He’s even married to Mama. That’s why we’re called _Arryns._ You’ve even got hair like his. And he _left_. He left to go to the Vale and he never came back and he never will. And now _Jon_ is going to the Vale. He’s not even married to Mama! He’s not even an Arryn or a Stark. He’s a _Targaryen._ Are you a Targaryen? No. He’s not our papa! And now he’s going to the Vale too and he’s _not coming back!”_

The Lady of Winterfell felt her heart break. She reached for her son. “Ned…” 

“No!” The boy jerked away violently. “If it’s not Arya or me, then he’s leaving cause of _you!_ Everyone says you made Father leave, that our father doesn’t like you, and that’s why he left. You make everyone leave for the Vale! I hate you! I hate all of you!” 

Ned broke into a run, leaving the yard in a horrible silence.

Arya was crying now. She grabbed the sleeve of Jon’s doublet. “Please don’t go to the Vale! I don’t want another Papa! I want you to stay with us! I’m sorry I’m stupid, please don’t go! Mama will be nice to you! I won’t be stupid and we’ll all be good, I promise! Don’t leave!”

Jon looked a bit dazed and more than a little horrified. Sansa could feel his pain. It matched her own. _‘You make everyone leave for the Vale! I hate you!’_

Never had her son said that to her. She’d given her son and daughter a rough explanation about what happened with their father. They weren’t old enough to understand the truth in full. After all, how to explain marriage troubles and the fact that their father harbored jealous hatred towards their mother? She told them that their father was an important man in the Vale, that he had his own castle and people to rule far away and had to leave to make sure that his castle and people were safe and happy, just like Mama had to stay in Winterfell to keep her castle and people safe and happy. That he left because he had to. “Lord Arryn is your father,” she told them, “But he’s a lord, and a lord also has to be a father to his people. He had to leave. Lots of people needed him in the Vale.” 

The truth was, Harry really wasn’t needed in the Vale. In Harry’s absence, Nestor Royce and Anya Waynwood served as regents. By all accounts, they had continued these duties with Bronze Yohn Royce even after Harry returned. Her lord husband apparently didn’t like dealing with his vassals because they didn’t approve of the way he conducted himself. No one wanted to travel the perilous path up to the Eyrie just to watch its lord indulge his mistress and a bunch of young knights in an endless stream of drinking, gambling, and games. Harry’s court was reportedly described more or less as a tavern, filled with less-than-reputable young men and women that availed themselves of good wine, music, violent sporting, and free favors. It was presided over by Lord Arryn and his “Lady” Bessie, who smiled on the debauchery and enjoyed a near endless array of banquets, jousts, theater, and music. Numerous singers, mummers, jesters, and the like apparently flocked to the castle, knowing that if they made the young lord laugh, he’d be generous. 

Meanwhile, the actual ruling of the Vale was handled at the Gates of the Moon by the embarrassed lords and ladies. The regents decided the best course of action was to just send a steady stream of gold, food, and supplies to Harry to keep him out of the way, try to keep the Vale afloat, and more or less pretend he didn’t exist.

That was what Mya and Randa told her, at least. 

But such matters were not for the ears of young children. Better they believe in duty and honor before neglect and debauchery.

She didn’t say a word of her personal problems with Harry to them, of course. Knowing the truth would do them no favors. But apparently, Ned had somehow heard of something. _Where did he hear that?_ Whoever spoke of it in Ned’s presence would pay. She had to know.

Her daughter was crying too, though. Sansa glanced at Jon nervously. Her lover was holding Arya, letting her cry into his shoulder, shushing and assuring her that Ned was wrong, he was only leaving for a short while, that he loved them all very much, that he was coming back soon. He looked up at Sansa. “I’ll take care of her. You go after Ned.”

Sansa felt broken as she hurried after her son. Jon’s departure fell on the very next morning. She’d intended for his last day here to be a happy one for everyone. She’d just wanted everything to go well. A fun little farewell banquet was planned. Both of them were going to devote the whole day to just playing with the children. It was supposed to be a day for their family, a way to temper the pain of his leaving, remind themselves of how much they loved each other, and build a few memories to get them through the separation. But now…

As she passed through the halls to the family wing, she occasionally had members of her staff note her look of distress and inquire after her. When she arrived at Ned’s bedchamber door, Brendel and Faya, the children’s nurse, were standing outside, looking panicked.

“Oh, thank the gods you’re here, My Lady. He just stormed into the room and screamed for us to leave him alone. Whenever we try to enter, he throws something at the door.”

Sansa sighed. “Faya, if you could fetch some hot cider and honey cakes?”

The nurse nodded and Sansa dismissed both of them. Very gingerly, she opened the door, hoping not to make too much noise. She could hear crying. A pair of little feet clad in muddy boots stuck out from under the bed. Sansa sighed. 

“Ned, Sweetling?” 

The muddy boots began to scramble and disappear under the bed. His snobs quieted, but sniffling was still audible. It killed her. Still holding back her tears, Sansa took some deep breaths and walked around her son’s room. She noticed that his favorite fur, the wolf one with fake ears sewn on the hood, was not on his bed.

Sansa decided to humor him and draw him out a little, so she paced in circles. “Oh, where has my sweet little Ned gone?” She wondered aloud, letting some of the sadness in her voice come through, “Where’s my beloved boy? I miss him so much.”

The sniffling got a bit louder. 

“Doesn’t he know how much his mother loves him and misses him? What will I do without my dear Neddie? I just want to hug him and make him feel better. I just want to talk to him. I miss him terribly. I just want to know he’s alright. I just want him to know how much we all love him. His mama, his sister, Jon… What will we do without our little boy?”

There was a distinct whine from under the covers. Then he spoke. “’M not little.”

“Ned?” She said, walking towards the bed. “Is that my Neddie?”

Sansa went over to the other side of the bed and lifted the dust ruffle. Her son’s red curls met her eyes. The six-year-old had his face buried in the silvery hood of his cloak, his little fingers clinging to the fur.

“Sweetling.”

“’M not coming out,” he said, his voice muffled somewhat by the fur, “’M not ever coming out.”

Sansa sighed. “Alright. As long as you’re safe. But can I stay in your room for a while?”

He answered with a slight shrug. 

“Thank you.” She sat on the floor, drawing her skirts around her like a soft cloud. Her son often liked to stroke the fabric of her skirts. When he was very young, he used to hide under them.  She waited a little while. Faya came with a tray of cider and cakes soon after. Sansa had her lay it on the ground, putting a finger to her lips so the nurse didn’t disturb them. The young woman hurried out quietly. Sansa began to pour the pitcher of cider into one of the cups, then held a full one out towards her son. 

“Do you want some?”

He shook his head. Sansa placed it near him anyways, then poured a cup for herself.

“I’m sorry you hate me, Ned. I love you so much, I just want you to be happy. That’s all any of us want.”

More silence. Sansa waited. After a couple of minutes, one hand ventured out and began stroking her hem. Sansa took the plate of cakes and placed it near his head. “These are for you. You can eat them under the bed if you like.”

A blue eye appeared from the mass of grey fur. “I can?”

“Just this once.”

His whole face appeared, and he grabbed one of the gooey cakes. Sansa smiled at him tentatively. He did not smile back, so hers fell.

“Mama, why is Uncle Jon leaving?”

“He has to, Sweetling. He needs to talk to your father.”

“Stop saying that!” He told her angrily.

“But it’s true, poppet.”

“No!” He insisted. “You lied about why Father left! You said it was because he had to rule the Vale! But it’s because you made him leave us!”

“Eddard Stark Arryn, you will stop this! Where did you hear such a thing?”

“I heard some servants talking. They said the reason Uncle Jon is here is because Father stopped loving you when you wouldn’t let him live at Winterfell and he hates you and you need a man to love you now that Father’s gone. They said he’s drinking and playing with another lady now.”

Sansa began to see red. _How dare they! Saying such things! The disrespect! Right where my son could hear it!_ “Ned, do you remember who it was who said this?”

“I heard Mychel and Linny speaking in the stables,” he told her, speaking of a stablehand and one of Sansa’s own lady’s maids. Her jaw clenched, but she tried to calm herself. She’d have them dealt with soon. Ned kept going. “Linny said Uncle Jon loves you and that you need it after you refused Father Winterfell and drove him away. She said it’s only fair you got to enjoy Jon since Father is spending all of his time drinking and doing things with another lady. Mama, why did you make Father leave Winterfell?”

“I didn’t, Ned. Linny was confused. I wanted him to stay.” _I wanted him to leave, too._ Or rather, she wanted to no longer have to deal with him. She wanted him there for their children, but she didn’t want to have to suffer his demands, moods, and touch any longer. But she hadn’t wanted him to actually leave. She’d asked him to be reasonable. Harry’s choice was his. “But this is different now. I promise it is. On my honor as a lady and a Stark. Uncle Jon has to go to the Vale, but he _is_ coming back.”

“ _When?”_  

“In a couple of moons.”

To a boy of six years, that was forever. The truth of this was clearly written on Ned’s face.

“Why can’t Father just come here? That way Jon doesn’t have to leave us and I could see Father again.”

Sansa shuddered. “Your father can’t come here right now. He needs to stay in the Vale. That’s why Uncle Jon has to visit him. But Uncle Jon’s coming right back. He’s not lord there, so he doesn’t have to stay like Lord Arryn. It’s different. Uncle Jon wants to stay in Winterfell. He grew up here like me. He loves it here, and he loves you and Arya.”

Another knock on the door. Sansa looked up impatiently. “Who is it?”

“Us.” 

Jon entered, holding Arya. The girl had her hands around his neck and her head rested against his shoulder. Ghost padded in at her lover’s heels. 

“We came in to see how he is,” Jon said, his face clearly concerned. Sansa nodded and beckoned him over. All three of the new guests came and sat by the bed, Arya curling up against Ghost’s belly. Jon sat beside Sansa and peered down at her son. 

“Hello, Ned. Are you still angry?”

The boy nodded. “Mama keeps saying you’re leaving because you have to, that you’re going to come back because you love us. But if you love us, why leave at all?” 

“Ned, I’m going because I love you. I have to go speak to your father about you and your sister and Mama, to make sure things are good for you. Sometimes, people have to leave their loved ones for a little while to do things to make sure the people they love will be safe and happy.” 

A panicked look came to Ned’s features. “Are you going to war?”

“Don’t go to war!” Arya said, sounding terrified. “War kills people!”

“I’m not going to war!” Jon said at once. “This is different. It’s very important, but it’s not war. But I am going to protect you and your mother. But it’s _not_ because I don’t love you.”

“Promise?” Ned asked.

“Ned, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be here at all. I came to see how you were, because I didn’t want you to be sad. Why would I do that if I didn’t love you?”

Her son had no answer for that. “I just don’t want people to leave.”

“None of us do. But sometimes we have to. Now, why don’t you come out from under the bed? Or do you still hate me?”

“No!” Ned insisted. He began to scramble out from under the bed and crawled over his mother’s skirts. Sansa pushed the tray out of her son’s way just in time for him to hurry into Jon’s lap without spilling anything. Even as Ned settled in, he kept a bit of his mother’s hem clutched in his fist.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered, “I just don’t want you to go.”

“None of us do,” Sansa told him, “Not me, not Jon, not your sister. I wouldn’t let anyone I love leave Winterfell if I could help it.” _But someday, even you will have to leave, Little One._ Her heart ached just thinking about it. She pulled Arya into her lap possessively. Her daughter proceeded to pull at her hair and stroke it with her thumb.

“While I’m gone, you’ll still have your mother and sister,” Jon told him, “Just like Arya and your mother will have you. You have to take care of each other. They love you just as much as I do.”

“I do love you!” Arya insisted suddenly, frowning at her brother, “So don’t be mean!”

Ned looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry I called you stupid. You’re not.”

“Thank you,” the girl replied before burying her face in her mother’s neck. 

Ned’s contrite blue eyes found Sansa’s then. “I’m sorry I said I hate you. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, Sweetling.” Sansa sniffed and reached out to cup his cheek. “I know.”

The rest of the day went more or less as planned, save for when Sansa had to summon Linny and Mychel to her solar and berate and punish them for their words. She couldn’t cast them from her service entirely--- after the winter, so many of her staff had nowhere to go, and both were among that number. Both begged forgiveness, horrified that anyone had overheard them. Sansa sentenced them to mucking out the stables, cleaning dishes, and some of the other, more unpleasant chores for a fortnight, then had them leave.

The little banquet went well. Crops were doing better, so they had fine fare. Ned and Arya took turns sitting in Jon’s lap and he let them snatch food from his plate. That night, the two children slept together in Ned’s bed. Sansa and Jon read and sang to them, and stayed with them until they fell asleep. Even at the late hour, though, Sansa found she still couldn’t sleep.

Tomorrow, he’d truly leave. There could be no more delays, despite how much she wished otherwise. She’d insisted he prepare a guard and that he send a letter to his aunt to meet him on the road beforehand. Then there was the collecting of coin and all the arrangements. But now, it was all in place and there was no other reason for him to remain. Sansa shivered. What if she was wrong? What if it didn’t work? What if this was truly the last time she saw him?

When they got back to her bedchamber, Jon turned to her. “I think I’m going to leave Ghost behind.”

“You can’t.” _He’d protect you._

Jon shook his head. “We’ve been separated before, and it would be a way for me to check up on you and reassure the children that I’m returning. And he can protect you.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I _have_ been known to survive some dangerous situations before, you know,” he gave a small smile, “Even without my wolf. And if all goes according to plan, I won’t even need any protection.” 

“But you _may._ Jon… He’s a part of you.” 

“So are you. So are Ned and Arya. So is Winterfell. But I have to leave those behind as well. Please, Sansa. Let me do this.” Jon reached down and laid a hand on her belly. “There’s a lot more here that needs to be protected.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. Sansa burst into tears and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”

He stroked her hair. “For what, Sweet Girl?” 

Sansa looked up at him. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t forgotten to drink the moon tea---“

“---No.” Jon’s eyes flashed. “I won’t have you apologizing for this. It was meant to happen.”

Sansa didn’t quite know what he meant by that. _Meant to happen? Who meant for this to happen? Why?_ The only reason she’d forgotten to take the tea was Ned’s illness distracting her. Now it brought all sorts of complications into her life that she didn’t need. She wondered what purpose this was meant to serve.

Still… If things worked out as planned, it could be lovely. Ned’s rights and inheritance would be secured completely at long last. Sansa wouldn’t have to worry about any more threats to her position or that of her children. She’d be married to a man who loved her, one who loved the children she already had and would help her raise them. She’d have someone who could help her rule officially, who knew the North, a son of Winterfell. And someone who wouldn’t try to get in the way of her own governance. Jon and Sansa already wrote up betrothal agreements that mandated the title of Warden of the North would remain with her, and that WInterfell would technically stay in her possession. He’d even signed it with a joke, “In this case, I suppose the lady is the lord and the lord is the lady.”

Jon could have claimed Winterfell from her before. Several times before, in fact. First, Stannis Baratheon made him the offer when he was still in the Night’s Watch. To legitimize him as Jon Stark and declare him Lord of Winterfell. Jon refused and repeatedly insisted that, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.” Then, years later, a supposed will of Robb’s surfaced from right before his death, formally legitimizing Jon and declaring him is immediate heir presumptive ahead of Sansa. 

Both these actions by Robb and Stannis were taken in response to her marriage to Tyrion Lannister. Both times, Jon was offered the castle and the lordship, by actual kings. There was no doubt in Sansa’s mind that if Jon wanted to, he could seize her title and lands from her. He’d likely have Targaryen support and backing even from some of the Northerners, who didn’t like the idea of “Arryns” taking over. And the royal family didn’t like the idea of Sansa’s bloodline holding both the Eyrie and Winterfell. 

But he’d not claimed a thing. Indeed, he openly supported her rights even when there was truly no incentive for him in doing so. He insisted Winterfell was hers, openly supported her rule, and assisted her simply because he cared for her and believed in her.

She knew that if Harry was ever lost, scores of men would descend upon her to claim the scores of power that she’d inherit. They could become Lord of Winterfell and Lord Protector of the Vale with one marriage. She’d be pressured on all sides to wed, and any choice was likely to offend every candidate she rejected.

If she married a lord from a House that had a rivalry with another (and pretty much every House did), she’d make an enemy of that rival house and their allies. If she married a Northern Lord, the Vale folk would claim that Sansa was trying have the North take over the Vale. If she married a Vale lord, the same would be said by her Northern vassals.

Jon, though, was perfect. He had the Targaryen name, royal title, and, ostensibly, the support of the dragons.  Jon was part of a House powerful enough to quell any potential uprisings, but he was low enough in the Targaryen succession that she could remain where she was as his wife and preserve her family name and line.

Any vassals who might be offended by her rejection would not be able to protest: after all, who could say no to a prince? She could claim the match was in the best interests of everyone. Both the Vale and the North played an instrumental role in deposing House Targaryen. Suspicions of disloyalty and such could still exist and posed a threat to both regions. By marrying a Targaryen, Sansa would establish a formal alliance with the crown, thus reinforcing their loyalty to the new regime. It would protect Houses Stark and Arryn and the people of both regions. All Houses could take security in the more formal alliance that a marriage to Jon would bring.

None of her vassals would be happy, exactly. They’d be upset by the missed opportunity that Sansa’s hand would present. But they couldn’t claim she was prioritizing anyone’s interests over that of any of her other vassals, they couldn’t claim she was upsetting the balance of power. And since Jon wasn’t king, since he was a son of Winterfell, they couldn’t claim she was becoming just a puppet of the crown, either. She’d have married a Northern son, but one none of her vassals would dare object to.

A husband as ideal for her politically as he was personally.

She just wished she didn’t have to force the issue herself. Honestly, if it were not for Harry’s mistress and his obvious desire to undermine her, she wouldn’t mind him as a husband so much. He could stay in the Vale and rule there and not bother her. She’d have the benefits of being a married woman while also having the status and freedom of being a lord in her own right..  The arrangement could have been ideal for both of them.. They could have spent half the year apart, ruling their respective lands, spent half the year together, dividing their time as a couple equally between Winterfell and the Eyrie. Both of them would only have to spend a quarter of the year away from their seats.

Sansa believed that if there was true peace between her and Harry, she might have never gone to bed with Jon.. If Harry were the type to accept her rule of the north, to support her, she’d never, ever have strayed. Even if she didn’t love him. Even if he had a hundred mistresses and bastards. If some sort of system of mutual respect and support could have been created, if she could at least be assured he cared for and wanted the best for their children, she’d consider herself lucky and beholden to him. 

But he hadn’t. Her husband made it clear he was looking for the opportunity to take everything from her, even if it meant gaining little or nothing for himself. At this point, it wouldn’t even be a matter of gaining Winterfell for himself, just making her lose it. Harry took every opportunity to humiliate and undermine her. Even when Ned fell ill, he’d written Sansa a curt letter implying that she was a poor mother and that he might try to take Ned from her. No actual concern for their son, just threats to her.

If it weren’t for that letter, Sansa wouldn’t even be considering this. She might have taken the Moon Tea by now, or tried her luck at hiding both the pregnancy and child while also turning Jon away for good. But Harry’s letter proved to her that no matter what she did, as long as he was around, he’d be a threat to her, Ned, Arya, and the North. The fact that he might have tried to take Ned away and put the boy in the care of his mistress, who openly wished to displace Ned in the succession with a son of her own. The fact that he hadn’t even asked what was wrong with the boy, or offered help. That after years of neglect, when his own son was at death’s door, he used that as a chance to threaten and shame Sansa. 

She’d had enough. She could put up with the insults. She could handle regular old neglect. She could put up with his open disdain. She could weather the lack of love and passion and personal comfort that came with being an estranged bride. 

But even if Harry never decided to use Ned’s illness to take him away, even if this pregnancy hadn’t happened, what then? How long would it take for Bessie Varemark to give Harry a son? How long before Harry decided to use his rights as a father and Ned’s place as heir to the Vale to force the boy into his and Bessie’s custody? He could do it, too, and likely get support. After all, Ned was his son, and heir to the Eyrie. It was only natural that his Lord Father want to take him and have him spend time in the lands he was to inherit. There’d be little to nothing Sansa could do. Then all it would take was a little “accident” and Bessie Varemark’s son would be a prime candidate for heir to the Vale. Even Arya might be targeted.

Until recently, Sansa didn’t believe Harry would be that cruel. That while he’d never be a proper husband or father to their children, he’d never let either of them be hurt. But after such a callous reaction, she knew she couldn’t trust even that. Harry’s hatred of her clearly outdid any concern or interest in their children’s safety.

 _And I deserve better. We all deserve better._ Her children deserved a father who would love them and be with them. They deserved siblings and a traditional, healthy family life. They deserved security. Sansa deserved a husband who loved her, who would be there for her. She deserved to have as many children as she wanted with a man she loved. Jon deserved to have a family of his own, children of his own blood, and a formal, official place in the world.

Her pregnancy and Harry’s threat meant she could no longer just wait around for Harry to die or suffer his enmity. She could no longer put up with this. Action had to be taken.

 _No more tolerance. No more accommodating. No more putting up with the insults, loneliness, and neglect._ Seizing true happiness wasn’t just something she owed to herself, she owed it to her family and people.

And, despite the danger and complication and risk, Sansa wanted this. She’d always wanted many children. And even though Ned and Arya would always be enough if she had no choice, she did want more. She was still so young, she could have many more. A Robb, Bran, Rickon, Catelyn, Jeyne, Lyanna, and/or Mya.

She had all the means in the world to have a big, happy family. Winter was over, the realm was at peace, and Winterfell was repaired. She had a secure position and the resources to provide for as big a family as she could want. She had a good man who loved and wanted her, who already helped her raise children not of his own blood but loved them all the same and clearly had the desire and skill to be a wonderful parent. Sansa had two lovely children who wanted siblings, who would be old enough to be wonderful teachers and protectors to their little brothers and sisters. She had an unlimited amount of love to give. A happy home that she yearned to fill with people to enjoy it.

Already, she’d created two incredible people with a man who was decidedly lacking. She wanted to meet the people she could make with Jon. The beautiful, strong, intelligent, and happy lives they could make and nurture.

For all the potential trouble and danger that came with what was growing inside her, there was also potential for unbelievable joy and good in the world. There was the possibility that what was growing inside her could become a good, wonderful human being. With so many monsters in the world, it needed the sort of person Sansa could create and raise with Jon. It needed many of them. 

Perhaps that’s why this was meant to happen.

Sansa looked into her lover’s eyes. They were big, round, soulful, and deep. Sansa wanted a babe with eyes like that. More eyes like that which would look at her with love.

She just wished she could make that babe on purpose, with nothing but anticipation. Her children, Jon’s children, deserved to come into the world only as a joy to others, not as a risk. 

Though Sansa oped for the best, that didn’t mean that she didn’t have any measures in place in case of something going wrong. _You’re not that stupid little girl anymore who was blindsided by everything. You’re as strong as anyone. You’re a survivor. He’s a survivor._

She still feared for Jon nonetheless. What if Harry proved immovable? What if Jon failed her? What if her husband just decided to run Jon through? What if the king and queen decided not to support this and forced Jon to abandon her?

 _What if he got hurt?_ Harry was a fool and a knave, but he was also an excellent warrior. She pictured it, Jon bleeding, Jon burning, Jon falling through the Moon Door… _Oh gods, please no._

 If something happened to him, Sansa wasn’t sure she could forgive herself. She’d carry on, for the sake of all who depended on her. But she’d never fully recover. She wanted to keep Jon safe, as safe as she wanted to keep her children. Keeping those she loved safe meant everything to her. 

 _So many things can go wrong. It’s madness._  She shivered. _But what other options do we have? Time is ticking away._

But he wasn’t a child. He was a grown man, and he had to go. She wasn’t alone anymore. She had to trust him.

 _He’s your hero,_ she reminded herself. _He defended your rights to Winterfell, he conquered the Night’s King and the others, and he sliced Janos Slynt’s frog-faced head from his shoulders. He’s survived just as much without you as you have without him. More, even._

Sansa needed to trust him. As hard as it was. She had to believe that for the first time, she wasn’t going to be bitterly disappointed. If she could believe anyone capable of helping her, she had to believe Jon was the one to do it. She would.

She wished, not for the first time, that she still had Lady. Jon was leaving Ghost with her. She would have liked to send Lady with him. That would be wonderful. If Lady hadn’t died, she might have been able to warg like Jon did. She could watch him through her wolf’s eyes. He could do the same through Ghost. Lady could protect him. Ghost had been the runt of the litter. If Lady had lived, she might be even bigger and stronger than her litter mate. And Sansa could send just as big a piece of her with Jon as he was leaving behind.  _At least I'm sending Brienne._

It didn’t seem fair. Jon was leaving her Ghost and his babe inside her. Sansa was giving him… What? A plan? A plan that could and most likely would keep him alive and the realm at peace. But still…

She’d given him a favor already: one of her white handkerchiefs, embroidered with her initials in silver and blue, sprayed with one of her perfumes and knotted with a silver ribbon she’d decorated with little stitched wolves. But she wanted him to have something more.

And it hit her. Sansa kissed his lips, but pulled away before he could pull her to bed. She went to her dressing table and retrieved her jewelry box.

Sansa didn’t have many gems. Most of the pieces she’d acquired over her childhood she’d left behind in the capital, and who knew where they were. After Lysa died, Petyr informally bequeathed all her aunt’s clothing and jewelry to her. These all became formally hers upon her marriage to Harry. Sansa ended up pawning every single piece she could to pay for the war effort and relief for her people.  There were only a few that officially belonged to House Arryn which she couldn’t legally sell, priceless pieces of historical value. When Sansa left the Vale, she left most of the gems behind in the Eyrie. Those were now in Bessie Varemark’s possession.

Not much was left.  She had a few of the jewels Harry had given her in the beginning of their marriage. Most she quietly sold off, especially after he left her, but she had kept a few as status symbols so she could subtly assert her place as Harry’s true wife.  

Then there were those that came from being a Stark. Some were ones owned by House Stark, historical ones worn by the Lady of Winterfell. Many were lost in the war, as had nearly all the jewels Sansa might have personally inherited from her mother. Sansa received gifts from vassals as well, but not many given the hard times. When winters and war raged and people were starving, even lords couldn’t afford to shower their lady in baubles. And most of what she received, once again, was sold to pay for food, shelter, clothing, armor, and steel.

Thus, despite her considerable position as both Warden of the North and Lady of the Eyrie, Sansa only had enough baubles to fill a moderately sized box halfway. In the North, there was even a joke among the nobility that when one feasted at Winterfell, ladies had to “leave their finery at home” so as to not accidentally outshine the lady.

Sansa opened the little chest and found what she was looking for. She didn’t choose her finest, most costly piece, just the best one for the job. A necklace of silver, with a long chain and circular pendant the size of a silver star, engraved to look like a wolf’s head. The pendant opened and inside was a miniature of a direwolf sitting under the Heart Tree of Winterfell. It was one of the only Stark pieces that survived, passed down from each Lady of Winterfell to the next, going back to the time of the Kings of Winter.

Unlike the Arryn family pieces, this was hers to give away, as she was the Head of House Stark in her own right. It was her favorite piece of jewelry by far. When she wore it, she felt close to her mother, grandmother, and all the ladies Stark that came before her: ladies and queens.

Sansa retrieved her sewing scissors and a length of white satin ribbon from her kit. Smiling at Jon, she snipped a length of her hair, tied it, placed it inside, then presented it to him. “Please, I want you to take this with you. So you have a piece of me as well.”

Perhaps in the morning before she left, she could get locks of Ned and Arya’s hair to add to it. She wished she’d thought of this sooner.

Jon hesitated. He recognized the piece. “Sansa, I couldn’t…”

“You can. You will.”

“If I fail, this could end up in Bessie Varemark’s collection.”

Sansa swallowed heavily, trying to banish the image of the girl gloating with the piece around her neck. “It could,” she admitted, “Which is all the more reason for you not to fail. I trust you.” _Please, take it before I change my mind._ Everything was lost if he failed, this bauble would be the least of it. 

“Sansa—“ 

“---Please. I want you to have a piece of me. I want to think of it being with you, hanging right next to your heart as you ride from the Vale.”

His face softened into a look of overwhelming love. Nervously, he took the piece and hung it about his neck. “I shall keep it there, then. I’ll look at it every night and think of you.”

Then he pulled her to him. “I love you,” he told her before kissing her deep. 

They made love that night, with him holding her tenderly. He told her how he loved her, how sweet and good she was, how she was everything he ever wanted and more. When they woke the next morning, they did it again, with Jon using his mouth on her before he took her.

Sansa managed to collect locks of hair from her children at breakfast and add them to Jon’s locket. After they ate, though, it was time for him to depart. 

Arya and Ned cried, both of them hugging and kissing Jon for as long as they could, begging him to come back soon. Sansa held back her tears and her urge to kiss him on the mouth. It was almost as strong as her urge to throw herself at him and beg him not to go, not to risk it. They had to maintain some cursed semblance of respectability, so Jon was forced to say farewell with a loose hug, bow, and kiss to the fingertips. His love and regret was plain on his face, and he mounted his horse with a great weight on his shoulders.

Sansa held her children as they watched him ride away. _He’s my hero,_ Sansa reminded herself as she dried Ned and Arya’s tears. She kept repeating this in her head, trying to convince herself that this time, the hero would win. It was so hard to do that when so many years had taught her otherwise. But she had to be strong.

When Jon was out of sight, Ghost padded over and began nuzzling the three of them with his snout. Arya clutched his massive neck. Sansa stared into the beast’s red eyes. _He has to come back. He has to._


	4. Wintery Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives in the Vale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Blue for her beta-work!

Jon:

Lord Nestor Royce was immense and bald with a graying beard and sharp brown eyes. His mouth when he greeted Jon was twisted with disapproval despite his kind words.

“We’re pleased to greet the cousin of our Lady and the brother to our king.”

Jon tried not to smile at the order with which Lord Nestor greeted him. The man’s daughter, now Myranda Hersy, was present. Her smile was decidedly fixed, much to the prince’s disappointment, and her manners quite formal. Sansa spoke of her friend as jolly, disarming, and friendly. 

It appeared Lady Hersy decided to drop her kindness. _She thinks me a knave. They all do._ His stomach sank. 

The whole clan was there: Lord Nestor’s heir and his wife and children, Randa’s family. All of them bowed and curtsied with perfect grace, but none of them looked the least bit pleased to see him.

It was unfortunate, because the trip down hadn’t been awful, especially once they passed the border into the Vale. Everywhere he looked was green, blue, and rich brown. Even the mountains in the distance seemed to blend into the breathtaking sky. The Vale looked more like a painting than a true landscape.

He’d gotten a note from Harrold Hardyng when he arrived as well. The letter he’d originally sent to the man had been modified in several ways, including an excuse that with his brother and aunt still without an heir, they didn’t wish him to travel through famously perilous landscapes--- the path to the Eyrie one of them.

Harry’s letter was lighthearted. _‘I’ll be meeting you at the Gates then. Lord Nestor should be furious, but he’ll bite his tongue.’_  

It seemed Harry wasn’t wrong.

Brienne earned herself a shocked look upon arrival. 

“Maid Brienne, you are far from your lady’s side,” Myranda noted with wide, hurt eyes.

“I go where Lady Sansa bids. She considered Prince Jon’s safety of paramount importance and ordered me to accompany him,” the lady knight replied, looking uncomfortable. Lord Nestor and his daughter exchanged significant looks and cast curious, calculating eyes on the woman. 

Jon was shown to spacious quarters with blue velvet hangings and a balcony that looked up at the mountain. “When shall Lord Arryn arrive?” he asked Lady Hersy.

“He’ll probably be here by tomorrow evening, Your Grace,” the lady informed him, “Mya journeyed up to the Eyrie already to fetch him, and he’s awaiting your own arrival. He and his merry little court should depart tomorrow morning. The journey takes most of the day.” 

She sounded as if she were dreading it, though she never said it aloud. Sansa never described her friend as formal or soft-spoken--- quite the opposite in fact. It made every polite word that much more stinging than an insult might have been.

A hot bath and attendants were promised, and she departed, eagerly taking Brienne by the hand and pulling her close as she walked through the door.

Jon unpacked one parcel himself -- a heavy chest -- and hid it under his bed before the assistants arrived.  Gylis was the manservant assigned to him, and two assistants called Berry and Bryce helped him unpack Jon’s things. The prince noticed the dark looks each sent his way when they thought he wasn’t looking. Otherwise, however, their manners were impeccable and their work efficient. Before long, they were dismissed, and the prince was allowed to be alone with his bath.

Jon stripped off everything but the locket and got into the water, which was more lukewarm than he’d expected. He wondered if Harry would receive icy water.

It hurt a bit, dealing with this level of resentment from people his lover considered friends. Sansa always spoke of the Royces fondly, and often read aloud from Randa’s infinitely entertaining letters.

Dinner in the Great Hall proved awkward. The meal was glazed ham, a salad with sweetgrass, strawberries, and pine nuts, and a creamy potato soup. Fine Dornish wine was also served. The settings and decorations were as immaculate as the manners of his hosts. But his companions also matched the plate in stiffness.

Jon was sat between Lord Nestor and his son, Ser Albar, a younger version of his father with black side-whiskers. Myranda, her husband Ser Francel, heir to Newkeep, and their children, two girls in the same age range as Ned and Arya, were on Lord Nestor’s other side. Ser Albar’s family, consisting of a thin, raven-haired Waynwood bride called Darla with sharp eyes and their three young boys, were present as well.

Aside from senior members of the household, Jon’s retinue, and a few fostered younger sons, the hall was mostly empty. “It won’t be once Lord Arryn arrives,” Ser Albar assured Jon in a flat voice.

No one looked excited. Indeed, Lady Darla wrinkled her nose outright. “I’m sure our lord shall fill these halls with ribald singing.”

 _I’ve disturbed them,_ Jon thought with a sinking stomach. “I have heard that Lord Arryn likes to keep a merry court.” 

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’ll find it all quite entertaining,” Myranda remarked. Her husband put a hand over her tightening fist. “His lordship is very excited for your visit. You’ll have much in common.”

The meal continued more or less in silence. His efforts at small talk were greeted with courteous but minute and decidedly final answers that gave little room for conversation to proceed.

Jon excused himself early and made his way back to his chambers, miserable. Apparently, the halls had been better attended until recently. Many lords and ladies visited the Gates of the Moon to conduct affairs and keep the Vale running. But with the upcoming visit from Lord Harry, most of the court had taken their leave.

The prince missed the North. He missed his family. He glanced at Brienne, who had accompanied him everywhere and watched him like a giant hawk since they’d departed from Winterfell.

“It’ll get easier, Your Grace,” she told him.

“It’ll likely get harder first, though.” He gave her a careful look once he got to the door. “Take a cup of wine with me before bed?”

The Maid of Tarth smiled and followed him in. Jon adored the woman, who seemed as devoted to the Starks as he was. She was one of three people who knew what was happening, and as a result was the only person Jon could speak freely to. The Maid of Tarth was a good listener, and spent many an evening drinking with him before retiring, sharing tales of the war. During the final battles with the Others, Sansa had sent Brienne with a host of Stark soldiers to the Wall. The Maid of Tarth encountered Sansa in the Vale shortly after her marriage and fought for her. She’d been a mainstay at Winterfell ever since.

The two sat by the fire with cups of Arbor Gold. 

“Lady Myranda wants your skin. She believes you’re here to sell Lady Stark out to her husband.”

“Did you cure her of this misconception?” 

“No.”

“Good.” It was better if fewer people knew, despite the pain that came with it. “Hopefully, though, she’ll end up coming around.” Myranda likely could never know the full truth, but she might be able to surmise before long that Jon did not intend to betray Sansa. 

“She’ll likely come to your wedding, at any rate, if only to tell Lady Sansa about her reservations.”

“Maybe she can be told sometime after the fact.”

Brienne shrugged.

Jon looked at her carefully. “Are you angry with me? For… this? Speak freely.”

Brienne hesitated, then pursed her lips. “I am… Not pleased regarding the situation. I do not question my lady’s decisions. It is not my place to. But if I were to feel anger, it would not be exclusively directed at you.”

Jon nodded. _She’s angry with both of us for being so careless._ He couldn't blame her.

After he retired, the thought stayed with him. It made for a fitful sleep. By morning, Jon regretted the question, as his eyes ached and his nerves were on end. His day proved awkward as everyone awaited the arrival of Lord Harry and his court. In the training yards, there were few worthy opponents, and most of the men gave him dark looks. The castle was bustling about in preparation, the ladies of the household directing servants and supplies. Jon ended up spending most of the day in his chambers, preparing himself. 

Little could have prepared him, though. When the court arrived, Jon didn’t even require a page to fetch him, he could hear the commotion from the courtyards. Jon threw on a doublet of black and burgundy and went to greet the Lord of the Eyrie. 

The court was filled with noisy knights and noisy women who would like draw attention on their own. But no question could be made as to who was at the center of it all.

Harrold Hardyng proved handsome and energetic, if a bit larger than Jon expected. He wasn’t exactly plump--- most of him seemed to be raw muscle -- but there was a slight give to his belly and roundness to his dimpled face. His eyes were light blue, his sandy hair windswept and thick, and his smile, though slightly yellowed, was charming. He wore soft brown leathers embroidered with gold thread over his blue doublet, and a cloak of cream and cerulean wool was pinned to his neck with a gold falcon clasp. He bounded off a chestnut palfrey with a merry grin.

Jon’s eyes narrowed as he watched the young lord. _They look like him._ His heart sank. He could see it: both children had his merry, dimpled smile. When seeing it on Ned or Arya’s face, Jon couldn’t really resist it. It was the smile that got him to sneak them honey cakes, or tell them the scary stories that Bran used to love even though Sansa insisted they would give them nightmares. _Well, now I know why she’s put up with him all these years: that bloody smile._  

Before Harry went to greet the Lord of the Gates or anyone else, however, he went to the white mare and its rider, helping the woman off her stead with a playful flourish. He squeezed her waist affectionately once she was on the ground and kissed her cheek before taking her arm formally and walking her towards the household party. 

Bessie Varemark lowered her powder blue hood and Jon found himself stunned.

Harry Hardyng’s mistress was always described to him as a green eyed brunette, and he’d always imagined her as being beautiful in that licentious, lush manner of some of the more popular women of Wintertown. He’d imagined thick, glossy waves of hair tossed here and about, painted thick lips, a mostly bared bosom, and a come-hither stare.

It was true that the woman before him was curvaceous, but her face and hair were the surprise. Soft chestnut ringlets framed her face with most of her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her eyes more hazel than the brilliant shade of emerald he’d imagined. While they were rather round, they weren’t especially big, nor framed with thick, long lashes. Her mouth was rather small, her face round, and her nose was slightly undersized and upturned regardless of which angle you saw it from.

Not an ugly woman by any means, but rather plain. Somewhat pretty under normal circumstances, especially when she smiled, but if one would compare her to Sansa’s elegant form, it would be an embarrassment.

Her face did have personality, however. Jon couldn’t deny the way her hazel eyes danced around the courtyard, taking in everything, or how bright her smile was. She looked exceedingly pleased as Harry brought her forward and presented her as “Lady Bessie.”

When Jon stepped forward, the “Lady” dropped to her knees with more haste than her lord, looking down at once, the manners of someone who was well practiced in being made to bow and defer to others. There was a tension to her shoulders, as if this reflex brought her great embarrassment.

“My Prince,” Harrold said, “It is an honor to have you in the Vale.”

Jon bid them to rise. Even after years as a prince, he still felt some discomfort with this level of deference. Both rose swiftly, and Lady Bessie bit her lip, looking nervous.

“May I present Lady Bessie Varemark, my companion?”

“Your Grace,” she bobbed a curtsey and Jon bowed. He began to feel somewhat sorry for her. Then she reached her hand out for him to kiss it.

He felt the bulges of rings under his lips.

If the indecency of a lord presenting his mistress to his wife’s cousin occurred to Harrold Hardyng, he gave no sign. The man greeted Jon almost like an old friend. “We have much to discuss,” he informed the prince with a wink.

The banquet that followed that evening was quite the opposite of the one from the night before, but just as unpleasant in entirely different ways. Bill Longnose and Francell the Fat were Lord Arryn’s aptly named jesters, and they took no prisoners, prancing about the hall and throwing barbed insults to everyone. Francell played at being an idiot, but his “mistakes” were as harsh as any of Bill’s witticisms. At one point, the fool, who had fingers like sausages and a spherical belly, ran up to the slightly plump Lady Myranda and asked, “Are you my sister?”

It wasn’t funny, just cruel. Apparently, though, Harry didn’t agree. He howled at this.

Bessie Varemark gave a show of trying to act like a lady for most of the main meal. The women of the Gates ignored her and her ladies, some highborn, some less so, all of them acting quite common. More than a few times, young men of Harry’s retinue chased girls from Bessie’s household around the hall, grabbed them by the waist and sat them on their knees like common serving wenches. By the dessert course, Bessie, after several cups of Dornish Red, was in Harry’s lap, her hair loose and her face red, laughing as Harry began tickling her belly.

It didn’t take long for most of the Royce household to excuse themselves. Once they were gone, Harry declared that it was time for the fun to truly begin, took a seat next to Jon, and called for music. Lord Arryn pulled his mistress to his knee and had her refill his cup and Jon’s.

 _I’m in a tavern all of a sudden,_ Jon marveled as he looked at the once-elegant hall. It was amazing what a few hours could do.

“Pour it generously, Bessie, after two years, our poor prince needs as much as he can get!”

Bessie grinned as she poured. “Our poor prince! Was the Lady of Winterfell just dreadful? I bet she never let you have more than a cup or two at banquets. Well, you’ll be allowed to drink your fill here.”

“I am not a great drinker, My Lady,” Jon said evenly, “But even if I was, Lady Sansa has never tried to restrict my intake.”

“Well, you say that,” Harry told him, “Maybe because you’ve never tried to take more than what Lady High-and-Icy deems proper. Or because you’re a prince.”

“High-and-Icy?” Jon asked, making a fist under the table.

Harry gave a bark of laughter. “You like that? Bessie came up with that. She’s wittier than every jester in the Vale put together.”

“Not hard, with this lot,” Bessie replied. “But I suppose they’re better than what one gets in the North. Tell me, Prince Jon, do you enjoy the theater?” 

“I’ve not had much opportunity to enjoy it.”

“Well, you will now. We’ve got a whole mummer’s troupe with us. A good one, too. I intend to stage plenty of plays here for your amusement.”

“How interesting.”

“Let me introduce you to one,” Bessie said eagerly. She looked over. “Nora!”

A buoyant beauty with honey-colored curls and a very low-cut bodice hurried over. When she saw Jon, she wet her full lips and grinned.

“Nora, this is His Grace Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of Summerhall. Your Grace, this is Nora Stone of the Gulltown Winged Mummers.”

“I am honored, Your Grace,” Nora said in an unexpectedly deep voice as she curtsied.

“Charmed,” Jon lied, thoroughly uncomfortable. There was an awkward pause as Nora stood there expectantly. Finally she asked if there was anything she could do to serve her prince. Harry nudged Jon with his elbow and grinned.

“No thank you, Mistress Nora,” Jon said, trying to sound kind. Nora’s face fell slightly. 

“She has a brother, if that’s your preference!” Bessie said brightly, gesturing over to a young man who matched Nora in prettiness sitting two tables down.

“That won’t be necessary.” He reddened, thoroughly embarrassed. Nora hurried off, looking puzzled. 

“Come now, My Prince,” Harry told him, “This isn’t Winterfell where a man is expected to pretend not to have a man’s needs. No one is going to be writing back to my wife to report you for enjoying a few pretty women.”

“Or pretty men, if that’s what you prefer. We don’t judge,” added Bessie.

Jon’s subsequent sneer seemed to chasten her, though. “My Love,” she said to Harry, pulling on his sleeve. “Perhaps you ought to take a private drink with His Grace. Leave me to this batch of cretins.”

Harry reluctantly got up and he and Jon went back to Lord Arryn’s quarters, which had a roaring fire and blue velvet hangings. A decanter of wine sat on a silver tray, and Harry immediately poured them cups.

“I suppose this is better. We can speak more freely. Last time I spoke too loudly of my wife in the Gates’ halls, I was scolded by my lords’ council. I came back to the Vale so I wouldn’t have to live by the rules of another, but you’d never know it, the way they’re always clucking at me whenever I come down here. I’m sure I’m already in for quite the lashing over my jesters’ antics this evening. Honestly, though, what’s the point of being Lord of the Vale if you can’t have a little fun?”

 _Protecting and serving your people._ Jon had affected a jovial, friendly tone in his letters to Harry, and now he regretted it. Apparently he’d given his letters too casual an air. Still, he needed to keep the man happy, at least for now. Jon sat down and took his cup. He eyed Harry with concern. The man was already quite drunk.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t rule the Eyrie,” Jon replied. “But I take it the position is not all you’d dreamt of?”

“It is when I’m actually there. But when I come down from the mountain, it’s all harping lords and proper manners and documents and petitions. I could have shown you a better time up at the Eyrie, I assure you.” 

“My aunt is coming, I have to receive her. And until she has an heir, she is concerned for my safety. I’ve heard the journey up can be treacherous.” 

Daenerys was coming, thank the Gods. On his trip down, he was visited at the Inn at the Crossroads by the former slave Missandei, one of his royal aunt’s most trusted confidantes. She’d come in response to the letter he’d sent.

The Summer Islander was as trustworthy as her mistress, and when Jon explained the situation to her, she’d departed without a single harsh word. A letter was clutched at her side, and she journeyed south again quickly.

When he stopped at a quiet village near the Riverlands border, a royal message was waiting for him. The tone was stern and frustrated, but it assured him that the queen would meet him in Gulltown eventually. _Make sure you let the Lord of the Eyrie know of my incoming arrival before you reveal your purpose._

She wasn’t here yet, so Jon bit his tongue as Harry spoke.

“Of course,” Harry waved a hand at him and grinned. “Well, no matter. I’ve brought as many of my merry little court as Lord Nestor would allow. You’ll still find this place far more jolly than Winterfell, I assure you.”

 _You have no idea what you’re talking about._ “You’ll be glad to hear that your son has recovered well, My Lord.”

“Oh? Good. Though, to be honest, I blame that frosty northern climate. Anyways, glad to hear the she-wolf has employed decent maesters. And the girl?”

“Arya is fine. She is as energetic and healthy as ever.” Thoughts of the children made him smile.

“Good. Pretty?”

“Beautiful, like her mother,” Jon said without thinking. He tensed up when he said that, furious with himself, and searched Harry’s face. But the lord gave no sign that anything was amiss. He laughed instead.

“Well, good. I’ll make a fine match for her, provided she doesn’t take after her mother in other ways!” Harry shook his head. “You know what I mean though. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So, tell me, Prince Jon. Allow me to hear your plight as only a man who has suffered it himself can." 

“My plight?”

“Dealing with the she-wolf I married. When I left, Winterfell wasn’t even finished being rebuilt. But I bet the progress has made it no less dreary. I mean, the woman doesn’t even like singers. What kind of woman doesn’t like singers?”

 _The type who was almost raped by one._ Apparently Sansa hadn’t told Harry of that. _But why would she?_

“It’s been difficult for her. The winter and wars hit the North the hardest. The recovery hasn’t left much time for recreation.”

“Sansa Stark: the woman who can’t even find the time to celebrate the spring,” Harry rolled his eyes. “If I’d been allowed to rule Winterfell, I can assure I’d have livened things up a bit. But the woman is impossible.”

 _If you’d been allowed to rule Winterfell, another of the Northern bannermen would have ended up burning it down._ “Sansa is… very protective of her home. And Northerners like a Northern leader.”

“Even a woman?” Harry snorted.

Jon shrugged. “We have a ruling queen.”

“And a king,” Harry reminded him, “With a stronger claim.”

“Do you claim to have a stronger claim upon Winterfell?”

“I’m married to the heir.”

“But you’re not the heir yourself.”

“She’s a woman. By rights, everything that is hers is mine.”

“The Northerners don’t see it that way.”

“The Northerner can hang!” Harry pounded his fist on the armrest of his chair. “Promises were made. When Jon Arryn died, I was promised that eventually, I’d be Lord of the Eyrie. That happened. When I married Sansa, I was promised that I’d be Lord of Winterfell as well. That didn’t happen! The Vale is a place of honor, where promises are kept and men are granted their due. We gave her the men to charge into the North, I fought, and for what? To freeze my arse off while being upstaged by my wife?”

 _She fought too, you shit. And her bannermen declared for her, fought for her. She’s the one who grew up in the North, knows Winterfell, and loves it. She’s the Stark. It’s her birthright, not yours._ Jon tried to appear neutral.

“That… that must be frustrating.”

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Harry spat. “She always thought she was too good for me. You know I didn’t even know who she really was until our wedding day? Until then, she was _Alayne Stone_ , a bloody bastard! And even as the base-born daughter of the lowest lord in the realm, she put on airs. Of course, eventually I found out why. Regardless, though, she didn’t act the least bit grateful. Even after we went to war, she treated every bedding like some sort of ordeal. Skittish, you know? She’s always been skittish. Frigid as that castle of hers. Then she denied me my rights to my own damn property!”

Jon heard enough. _If I don’t leave now, I’ll kill him. I know I will._  He stood. “If you don’t mind, Lord Arryn, I think--- I think I should go to bed. I’ve had too much wine.”

Harry nodded. “Of course. We need to work on teaching you to hold your spirits, Your Grace. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” 

He passed Bessie Varemark and one of her ladies as they made their way down the halls, giggling. Lord Arryn’s mistress saw him and began moving towards him, but he gave her a look that clearly told her he had no patience for it.

 _‘She treated every bedding like some sort of ordeal.’_ Jon almost threw up once he returned to his chambers. _Poor, darling Sansa._ The thought of such a man as Harry Hardyng laying his hands on her in such a way… Jon had known, of course, that Harry and Sansa must have had relations for an extended period of time. But such an idea was easy to keep far from his mind when Harry was far from him and he didn’t have a face inside his head to help him visualize. But now he did. And that face spoke of bedding her.

 _An ordeal? Gods, how inept must one’s love making be for it to feel like an ordeal?_ He shuddered. _I managed to please Ygritte when I was a greenboy, shivering beyond the wall and rutting on the ground and in caves. This one, who supposedly had enough women to sire two bastards on two different mothers prior to his wedding, couldn’t manage to make it through the marriage bed without making his lady wife suffer?_

It certainly wasn’t Sansa. Jon shared her bed, and he knew for a fact that despite her Tully looks, the Lady of Winterfell acted as more of a wolf than a cold fish in the bedchamber. To so utterly fail at making love to a woman like her was an achievement in its own right, almost.

No excuse existed for this. His stomach turned. The idea of this smirking, pompous, arrogant, entitled oaf touching her, possibly _hurting_ her, proved more than he could handle. _I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him._ Jon knew those might prove shallow promises, but he now wanted so very badly for that to happen.

It pained him, thinking on it. _He had her for years._ Jon only shared her bed a dozen or so times. Harry and Sansa were together for six years. And apparently that wasn’t enough. Sansa claimed that Harry liked tavern girls and whores. One of their biggest arguments was over him tupping serving girls. The Lady of Winterfell was very protective of the women and young men of her staff, punishing any higher servant or visiting lord who interfered with one of her people most severely.

“Almost everyone who has come to serve here came to Winterfell looking for safety. I will not allow that safety to be threatened,” she told him. “And I’ve seen it before. I do not like it.” 

She’d almost been raped by a singer, Marillion, when she arrived at the Vale as “Alayne Stone”. Apparently the young man was a great favorite of Lady Lysa’s. Numerous reports came of him interfering with maids. The lady sent all the girls away for “telling lies” about him, including one lass who descended down the Giant’s Lance with a full belly.

Winterfell was a different story. One of the Tallhart boys was thrown from the fortress for groping one of the chambermaids without her leave. It became a joke that scullery maids had their honor protected like ladies at Winterfell. That protection even extended to the young men after Ser Lyn Corbray was found with his hands down the breeches of a young stable hand.

At the very least, when relations between a servant and a superior were discovered, the superior was ordered to keep away from the servant and one of them was relocated to another part of the castle unless both parties asked otherwise. Relations of this nature simply were not tolerated on the grounds of Winterfell. Rumors abounded that Sansa forced her serving women to wear chastity belts.

Such claims were absurd, of course. Sansa actually had a couple girls in her employ that took occasional trips to the Wintertown brothels to sell their favors. Their lady knew, and only objected to them conducting said business on castle grounds. She wasn’t a prude, either. Indeed, more than a few couples had found each other and wed with her blessing at Winterfell, and she gave no objection to innocent flirtation.

And, of course, she had shared her bed with a man who was not her husband.

The “frigid” woman Harry spoke of was a stranger to Jon, who certainly didn’t experience that at all. After their first night, for that brief period before Ned fell ill, she proved more than willing to join him.

But now a lot of things were starting to make sense. Such as the awkward first time they’d coupled, when Sansa acted amazed when Jon made her peak twice before even entering her.

It had been almost a decade since she’d lost her maidenhead, yet she approached their couplings like a maid would: completely innocent, somewhat frightened, and only viewing his cock as something she did her “duty” by. When it turned out to be something she could actually enjoy, it shocked her.

“I hope I made you happy,” she’d whispered to him that first night after they finished, curling up against his chest. “That’s what I meant to do.”

Jon imagined that Harry wasn’t a master in the bedchamber, but for him to be bad enough to make Sansa experience it as an ordeal, or even have her seem frigid didn’t even make sense. Even when his lover lay before him on that bed, expecting him to just fuck her, not expecting any real pleasure, her lower lips did glisten in arousal. Afraid as she seemed at first, she was far from frigid. And she peaked so easily.

There was some slight satisfaction he got from the idea that he was the first man she’d enjoyed sharing a bed with (after that first night until Ned fell ill, she eagerly jumped into bed with him. This resumed some time after they made amends over the pregnancy and waited for the date for his departure). Still, it disgusted him too much to think of Harrold Hardyng crawling over such a woman, rutting into her like a brood sow, and leaving her uncomfortable and likely hurt. 

 _For bloody years. And he got two children from her._ It was maddening. _A man like that isn’t fit to polish her boots. And he took her to bed, claimed her as his own. He still does. Even though he’s abandoned her bed for some plain, lower-born mummer girl._ The gall of someone like Harry Hardyng laying claim to a woman like Sansa, and then throwing her away, just baffled him. It was like possessing a Valyrian steel blade, shoving it in a dinky shed to tarnish, not allowing anyone else to hold or polish it, and using a sword of cheap iron instead. Only worse. So much worse.

 _Did her courage, strength, and kindness mean nothing to him?_ Apparently. _He had one of the finest women in the Seven Realms, and because he wasn’t allowed to run her castle into the ground and fuck her lady’s maids, he doesn’t want her._

Jon could barely stand it. _He touched her. He bedded her. That unworthy, arrogant shit had her. She gave him two wonderful children and that still wasn’t enough._  

Throughout his life, Jon had to watch as unworthy men took their privilege and happiness for granted and always demanded more. There were men who fought and died expecting nothing: no glory, no wealth, no singers calling out their names, never to be remembered. They froze and starved just to serve, and were happy with it. There were people who grew up and subjected to abuse and poverty, who just wanted some bread and a roof over their heads.

Meanwhile, spoiled ponces who had everything handed to them their whole lives, who never had to know hunger, or poverty, or injustice were constantly killing and betraying people over small slights to their ego, or desire for wealth and power. Theon Greyjoy was treated like a son, raised alongside the Starks despite all the damage his family had done, given everything he could possibly need or want. Robb loved and trusted him. And yet he stormed Winterfell and betrayed the Starks for a man who would never love him just so he could prove he was better and be a “Prince.”

Joffrey Baratheon had everything: wealth, power, his every whim indulged, and a future of prestige and luxury. Yet he couldn’t be happy unless he was beating girls and murdering innocents.

Rhaegar Targaryen had the Iron Throne inches from his grasp and a beautiful wife who nearly died to give him two beautiful children. And he threw it all away to pursue some prophecy. Jon knew that these actions were the reason for his existence, and yet the utter devastation that came about as a result could not be reconciled. 

Then there was Jon himself. He still cringed at his youthful idiocy. It wasn’t enough that he was acknowledged, loved, cared for, and educated. It wasn’t enough that his father took him in, defying his wife to do so, and treated him almost as a trueborn son. It didn’t matter that Jon was denied little during his upbringing. He still dreamt of usurping Robb, who loved him and deserved his birthright. Jon once expected to be given everything he wanted and resented all who denied him that: whether it was adulation from his peers at the Watch, a place among the rangers, or the Stark name. It was only later that he learned how stupid and self-centered it all was.

Now there was Harry. A man who, by a miracle of both birth and the ill-luck of the honorable and deserving Jon Arryn, was given the Vale. A boy who went from a petty knight to a Lord Paramount. On top of that, he was given a bride who was not only as beautiful as the dawn, but far outstripped him in terms of intelligence, sophistication, courage, strength, birth, and position. Harry Hardyng’s descendants would have held the North and the Vale. But apparently, a jaw-dropping legacy, incredible wife, and wonderful children weren’t enough. Because he couldn’t have every single bit of power he wanted, he was willing to give it all up and harm others. Even though the man clearly had no interest in ruling, the fact that his wife denied him power over her lands was enough to make him abandon and work against her.

The entitlement, the viciousness, the stupidity of it was jaw-dropping. Many men would kill just to have a woman who would share their furs, cook their game, and give them a babe. And Harrold Hardyng couldn’t love Sansa Stark properly because she wouldn’t give him control of lands he had no right to.

Such men should not be husbands. _He has no right to her if he can’t love her. Frigid. Ha! Frigid indeed._ Just the thought of Harry sharing her bed for years, and only coming away from it to complain about her being “skittish” made his blood boil.

The next day, Jon took a great deal of pleasure in knocking the Lord of the Eyrie on his arse multiple times in the practice yard. He let the man win a couple of times to maintain an air of equality, but definitely came out on top in the end. Harry scowled at him afterwards, but was jolly again by the mid-afternoon, inviting Jon on a hunt. He just asked that Brienne, who had also beaten him, did not come.

During the hunt the next morning, Jon had to employ every ounce of self control. Harry made numerous crude japes about women and hunting. He sung the praises of “wet, willing, unassuming girls” like Bessie, who were always happy to please their men. He spoke of women who refused to enjoy anything. “There are some hunts that just prove too exhausting, not worthy of your time. Some bitches just can’t be satisfied.”

At one point, the Lord of the Eyrie asked Jon if Lady Stark still seemed not to care that she was without a husband. “Has she expressed any interest in any men at all?”

Jon tersely replied that she hadn’t.

Harry’s response was a jape about hiring a maester “to check beneath Lady Arryn’s skirts. Her lifelessness and coldness is such that I worry the Greyscale may have in fact afflicted her and turned her heart and women’s parts to stone. It’s really the only logical explanation as to how she could have become so stiff and hateful, and we wouldn’t want the Lady of Winterfell spreading a plague.” His men all laughed and began calling out, “A maester! A maester! Call a maester to stop the plague!”

He could picture it, so clearly in his head. Turning to Lord Harry in front of all his men with a smile on his face. _“Your men certainly should fear the plague of your stupidity, as it seems your brains have turned to stone. Luckily, I can report from personal experience that every inch of your lady wife is in perfect condition. Every. Inch.”_

But Jon bit his tongue, and only gave the slightest sign of offense. “She is still my cousin and a lady, Lord Arryn.”

“Of course, of course. My apologies.”

Before another word could be spoken, though, they were distracted by a fearsome shriek ripping through the sky. Jon immediately took off for the castle, grinning.

Sure enough, when he got close, he could see gigantic black and red wings casting the ground in a shadow as a gigantic beast circled the sky about the Gates of the Moon. Drogon began to swoop down towards an immense empty meadow. People all around stared up in shock. Jon took off in the direction of the dragon.

The meadow was a sea of wildflowers, an absolute dream. Jon almost pitied them for the inevitable scorching they’d have to endure at the mouth of their new resident. Drogon, stunning as ever, lowered himself to the ground slowly. As he did, the small, silver-haired woman on his back began un-strapping herself from the large leather saddle. She slid off the beast’s back lithely, slipping down one of his folded wings feet first.

Jon dismounted himself, grinning as the dragon queen pulled off her riding hood and removed the leather-strapped glass eye-guarded. Violet irises fell upon him. Jon hurried towards her, and she walked towards him, slipping off her long leather gloves.

“Nephew,” she said neutrally.

“Your Grace,” he replied, bowing.

Daenerys took the opportunity of his bent neck to start slapping the back of his head with her gloves angrily.

“You--- thrice---damned--- _fool!_ ” she said, smacking him even as he tried to flinch away. Despite how tiny she was, his aunt was strong, and the gloves did sting a bit. 

“My Queen, please---“ 

“Silence! You’re lucky I don’t strangle you!” But she stopped and stepped back. “I’ve only stopped because I’m weary from the flight. Now strap yourself in, we’re going flying.  We need to speak in private.”

Jon hesitated, but did as he was told. He joined his aunt on Drogon’s back, and the beast took to the air once more. The prince had some experience with dragon-riding, but he was accustomed to Rhaegal, not Drogon, who flew swifter and more violently than his sibling. Dany had them settle on an abandoned cliff overlooking the woods near the Gates, and had them alight. Before Jon could properly take in the stunning view of the lush green lands below, his aunt spoke.

“We don’t have much time. Be honest with me now: do you believe Lady Stark fell pregnant on purpose?”

“No, she’s not foolish enough to risk such a thing.”

She seemed to accept this answer. As a mistake, it was stupid enough. Doing it deliberately would just be madness. The new regime had dragons and were understandably wary of heirs being ensnared in schemes. “And you honestly think that even without this matter, the union between Harry Hardyng and Sansa Stark could have led to conflict eventually?”

“I do. The second Lady Bessie or some other woman bore him a son, Eddard Stark Arryn’s rights would be threatened. And even before that happens, Lord Arryn has grown ever more shameless about disrespecting his wife, so much more that I believe the Northern lords would have reached the end of their patience.” Jon proceeded to tell her of the Greyscale joke he’d just heard. Daenerys wrinkled her nose. 

“That… That’s foul. There are Meereenese pimps that wouldn’t say such a thing.” Daenerys cradled her temple. “And the other Vale lords?” 

“Their patience with the boy who was once their Young Falcon dims every day. He does no ruling, and spends his time turning the Eyrie into a Mummer’s show and tavern. Everything he does is a scandal.”

Daenerys shuddered. “I see. Alright. But I want something from Lady Stark. Ned Arryn may be the next Lord of the Eyrie and Protector of the Vale. If Sansa Stark wants to dissolve her match to marry the heir presumptive to the iron throne, she may. But I have not traveled to the Vale to threaten a Lord Paramount and risk the stability of Westeros just to gain nothing in return. Your young love is sweet, but it doesn’t justify risking conflict with House Arryn.”

Jon nodded. As fond as his aunt was of him (and she was, the present time being an exception), he knew he’d asked a lot of her. “What is it you want?”


	5. The Future of the Men of House Arryn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Daenerys make terms. Sansa and Jon are horrified, Dany doesn't want to be the bad guy. Harry takes a trip on Drogon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bluecichlid for her awesome Beta work!
> 
> Guys, i know these chapters haven't come out at the T&T rate. I'm sorry. I'm prepping for a new job and dealing with prepping for grad school applications. And I've been sick. But I'm going to try and pick up the pace.

Chapter Five: The Futures of the Men of House Arryn 

Sansa:

She woke, much as she had in the days past, hoping against hope that the letter was a nightmare. It got to the point where she had to keep the parchment by her bedside to make herself swallow it again every morning. Getting her eyes open was hard, for her lashes were somewhat stuck by last night’s tears. Sansa groaned, sat up, and pulled the cursed piece of paper into her lap.

Forcing herself to read it over and over didn’t get any easier.

_‘Lady Stark, a great risk and loss to House Targaryen is required if we were to proceed with this plan. To justify such an act, we would require something in return. For a long while, the crown has had concerns regarding the inheritance of your son, Eddard Hardyng Stark, who is heir to both the North and the Vale. Having one person as Lord Paramount of two entire realms gives us great pause. It creates a dangerous threat to the balance of power in Westeros._

_Our kinsman Prince Jon is heir presumptive to the Iron Throne, and as such the matter of his marriage is of great importance. He requires a wife who shall not only prove virtuous and fertile, but also bring prestige and power to our bloodline. It would delight us to make a more official and reputable alliance with House Stark, but only if it serves to make us stronger. Though you have declared your fealty to the crown, the matter of your son’s inheritance still poses a threat._

_You are Lady of Winterfell in your own right, and your heirs are yours to determine in that respect. Thus, we ask in return for our support and union, that you strike Eddard from Winterfell’s succession. As the last male heir of the Arryn bloodline, he must inherit the Eyrie. However, it is likely more Stark heirs shall arrive. Wed to the prince, more trueborn sons shall be born to you, ones more than fit to inherit the North and finally restore balance to the realm._

_You shall have your new husband and a name to give to your future children, but in return, the rights to your domains must be shifted to your next son as well. If you promise us the next Lord of Winterfell shall be of Targaryen blood, then your future is assured.’_

The letter went on, discussing further plans for the children Jon and Sansa were to have. If a child wasn’t born to Daenerys and Aegon, the children of her womb would inherit the Iron Throne. If that became too likely, their eldest son would also have to give up Winterfell and be fostered in King’s Landing for a time. Sansa expected plans for her children with Jon concerning their royal heritage, even the expectation of fostering. Such was the nature of marrying royalty, and she was just grateful Daenerys didn’t expect her to give up her children at once. 

But the Ned thing was what truly broke her heart.

At first, she railed and cursed the king and queen. _How dare they? How dare they try to steal my son’s home from him? To command me to disinherit my own boy?_  

But in the end, she had to blame herself. _I put Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen in the position to make such demands. My foolishness._  

She was supposed to have grown out of such stupidity. _What have I done?_

 _I’ve given away half of Eddie’s birthright. I have signed away his home._  

Sansa thought she’d finally reached a place in her life where she didn’t have to be forced into such terrible positions. She was the universally acknowledged Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. Her husband was difficult but separated from her. She’d stood up to him and run him off. She had her children and people. Her people were eating and recovering. She thought she was safe.

 _I was. But I ruined it._ Sansa put the paper aside and glanced down at her belly. No one looking at it would guess, especially not through her gowns. She had more than a moon’s turn before she’d have to make any efforts to hide anything. The Lady of Winterfell cupped her stomach and wondered at what was growing inside her.

_You’re so much trouble, and you’re not even born._

During that brief period between becoming romantic with Jon and Ned’s illness, she’d thought of marriage and trueborn children. She couldn’t help herself, despite the knowledge of how ridiculous it was. Jon was just so good and loving to the children, such a comfort to her, and everything she’d always wanted in a husband: kind, heroic, brave, strong, gentle, doting, and generous. It was just too easy to wish he were her husband in truth and that they could just be together and rule the North and have more children.

But it wasn’t something that was actually supposed to happen. She knew that. Short of Harry dying (and there were times she actively wished for it), there was no way they could have that life.

Even in the fantasies, she expected it to be done properly: they’d marry, then the babes would come. But of course, as with everything she’d ever wanted, it came about all wrong.

_It was my fault. I went to bed with him, and it has cost Ned Winterfell. My children will suffer._

What did Ned know of the Eyrie? He was born only just before they retook the North. Winterfell was the only home he’d ever known.

The boy saw the Vale as this distant place he didn’t even like. That was where people went and didn’t return from. It was the place, in his mind, that took his true father from him, and now took Jon. 

Once again, Rickon’s tearful prediction all those years ago echoed in her head. _“They won’t come back! We’ll never see them again!”_ Everyone told him to hush, that such a thing was absurd.

And now, she was to tear Ned from Winterfell and give him to the Eyrie. All because she’d been stupid enough to go to bed and fall pregnant. 

 _How am I supposed to tell him?_ Ned saw himself a Stark and son of Winterfell. His whole life, he’d been heir to Winterfell. Winterfell was what he knew. _I’ve betrayed my son._

Once Harry was gone, the lords and ladies of the Vale would want Ned there. He had to go eventually, if he was to rule. But that would be more immediate, and he’d be tied there forever to some extent.

But what was she to do? At this point, taking the Moon Tea would be dangerous. And Jon was in the Vale. 

And it wasn’t like Ned would be allowed to hold both, really. Sansa saw it now. Making the Vale and the North one single realm just didn’t work. They didn’t even share a border. _I should have done something._

She dared to voice conditions in her response to Daenerys. Better to do it now. She couldn’t just give up without securing something. If the dragon queen was reasonable, Sansa would have some time to help Ned adjust to the new circumstances. At least a little. 

_Still, though… How am I to explain this to my boy? ‘No, Ned, it turns out you’ll never be Lord of Winterfell. You have to go to a mysterious castle in the mountains you’ve never known and just be lord of that. You have to leave your home behind.’_

This was happening now because of her mistake.

_What would have happened, had I not fallen pregnant?_

As she thought about it, she suspected that even if she’d been smart and not gone to bed with Jon, that the issue of Ned’s inheritance might come up. Harry would never give her another son or means to have one she could claim as his. Arya would have been an option, but a weak one. A woman could rule, but passing over a trueborn brother, especially an older one, in either the North or the Vale, in favor of a sister, was almost unthinkable. There could even be a conflict over who got Ned and who got Arya. Dividing the lands between trueborn brothers would be a solution, but Harry wasn’t going to give Ned a trueborn brother.

Eventually, the Targaryens might have come calling. And even if they hadn’t, no doubt Ned would have to deal with suspicion and divided loyalties between the North and the Vale for the rest of his days.

Maybe she could have given the North to Arya. The Northerners preferred boys as much as any other non-Dornish kingdom, but they submitted to Sansa’s rule well enough. Harry would never submit to giving the Eyrie to his daughter, but Winterfell was Sansa’s. It still would have eventually required Ned to leave, but it could have waited.

The babe complicated everything. _I just made it all worse. Stupid girl. Stupid._

Sansa hid the message and pulled herself from the bed. After getting ready, she went to greet her children for breakfast. They were seated at the high table of the Great Hall, as always. Ghost stood near the table, eating out of a large tub of raw meat. 

Ned and Arya sat side by side across from Septa Nyna, Faya, and Maester Brendal. Ned picked at his eggs sleepily, but Arya was fully awake.

“Mama, may I join the Night’s Watch?” The little girl asked when Sansa sat down.

“What?!”

“I want to join the Night’s Watch and guard the Wall. When Papa comes back, he can finish teaching me how to use a sword and I can dye all my clothes black and guard the Wall when I’m older.”

“You’re stupid,” Ned told her, “Girls can’t join the Watch. And besides, it’s gone. It disbanded after King Aegon, Queen Daenerys, Uncle Jon, Lord Stannis and the other warriors killed the Night’s King.”

“Ned, stop calling your sister stupid.”

“And girls _can_ join the Watch! Danny Flint did!”

“She got killed!” Ned retorted.

Sansa cupped her face in her hands. “Ned, do not call your sister stupid. If you call her that again, I will send you to your chambers until you learn some manners. It is not lordly to insult ladies, least of all your sister. Now apologize.”

“Sorry.” Ned rolled his eyes.

Arya kicked him under the table anyways. Sansa sighed.

“But your brother is partly right. There’s no more Watch, and girls weren’t allowed to join. I’m sorry, Arya.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Because boys are stronger than girls! Girls can’t be warriors!” Ned insisted.

“ _You’re_ stupid! I’m better at swords than you. And there are _lots_ of girl fighters! Brienne is a fighter! Queen Daenerys commands the dragons! And there’s the Mormonts! Papa says girls can fight, and he’s fought lots more than you!”

“They still couldn’t join the Watch!”

“But _why?!_ ”

“Because the world is unfair, Arya,” Sansa said, her breath catching. Her eyes began welling up. _No, I won’t cry in front of my children._ She swallowed and looked at her wide-eyed daughter. Her eyes were wide, blue, and innocent, like Sansa’s used to be. _I didn’t know this until after Father was killed. I wasn’t warned and I suffered so much for it. I can’t let her go unwarned as well._ Sansa blinked back her tears. “Because the world we live in is harsh and unkind and tries to control us. Because being forced to do things you don’t want and being kept from what you do want is part of life and everything is designed to keep it that way. Best you understand that now." 

“My Lady!” Brendel said in astonishment. “The children don’t need to---“

“---Oh shut up, you old fool. You think just because you have that chain around your neck you think you can tell me how to raise my children?” 

Every eye in the hall was on her now. Sansa got to her feet then, embarrassed.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I---“ She paused, then looked at her stunned children. “Ned, Arya, don’t ever call anyone stupid. Or a fool. It’s not proper. I… Pardon me, I don’t think I’m feeling well.” 

Maester Brendel rose. “Let me examine you, My Lady.” 

“No! I’m fine… Just a headache. Please…” 

She hurried away, through the walls of Winterfell back to her chambers. Many of the walls were new or restored from the damage of the fire and the winter. She’d watched these walls go up again. _I had them rebuilt for Ned._

Sansa fell upon her bed and sobbed. _I am the worst mother in the world._

A wet nose nuzzled an outstretched hand. Sansa looked up. Ghost’s red eyes stared into hers, their color as angry as she was.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Daenerys:

Silence accompanied the queen and her nephew back to the Gates of the Moon. Daenerys almost felt happy to see the stout castle appear through the thick woods, despite the unpleasantness she knew awaited her. 

 _Don’t make me the villain here,_ she thought resentfully, _I am doing my duty. You created this situation; you cannot blame me for taking advantage of it._

Part of her blamed herself, though. When she sent her half-Stark nephew north to look after the region and his cousin, she should have encouraged him to reunite Lord Arryn and Lady Stark. There was talk of it, of course, but apparently there needed to be more. 

The whole enterprise seemed perfect at the time. Jon seemed perfect for the task of providing a guardian eye to Winterfell. He was half Stark and raised in the North and therefore knew the area, people, and the lady. He had already publicly rejected any claims to Winterfell, minimizing the chances of him being seen as a threat. He’d been Lady Sansa’s half-brother and would look out for her well-being. Jon yearned for the North as well. He could serve the interests of House Targaryen and keep an eye on things without being too unwelcome to Lady Stark and her vassals. It seemed perfect.

For the last two years, Dany and Aegon were extremely pleased with their decision, seeing it as one of their better ideas.

Nothing could have shocked them more. Jon, honorable, duty-bound Jon, more Stark than Targaryen, having an affair and planting a babe in Sansa Stark. Daenerys could have fainted when she heard.

During his time in the capital, Jon only had one woman Daenerys knew of. One of the Wildling spearwives, a golden-haired beauty by the name of Val, accompanied them down to the capital to finalize terms between Westeros and the Free Folk. She shared Jon’s bed, but she also left once her work finished and she was called north to lead her people. Jon didn’t stop her, though he moped for a while

After Val left, though, Jon didn’t take advantage of his position or indulge himself with the host of women eager to throw themselves at the unattached prince. Despite his rank, despite having no wife, despite the Watch and his vows being gone, never was there talk of her nephew interfering with noble ladies or servants. If he visited brothels, he was discreet. 

Rumors started that the young prince preferred men, but he showed even less interest in that direction. Daenerys noticed that while Jon didn’t take many or any women into his bed, he did admire some with a man’s eye. More than once, his eye fixed on some of the flesh exposed by the more revealing garments of the south.

But it didn’t go beyond that.

Furthermore, her nephew definitely had some strong feelings related to be raised a bastard, and once spoke of his determination never to sire one. 

Jon wasn’t some cad. He actually respected women, low and highborn alike. He treated Missandei with more respect than most courtiers, and actively supported Dany’s rule. The prince wasn’t the type to just use a woman.

And of all the women in the world, Sansa Stark… Daenerys didn’t know much of the woman, except that she was reportedly a competent leader, a beauty, loved by her people, well-respected, and smart enough not to lay claim to a crown of her own. Jon in his letters sung her praises. 

This wasn’t just anyone. Sansa Stark was Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North. She was the last trueborn Stark. She was Lady of the Eyrie. She had a reputation of beauty, courtesy, and virtue. And she was raised as Jon’s half-sister.

 _Apparently, he has some Targaryen traits after all._ Still, it stunned her.

Now, there was no going back. While Dany was declared fertile once more, a new prince or princess was taking its time arriving. Three pregnancies came about since she wed Aegon five years ago. Two ended in early miscarriage. When she sent Jon to Winterfell, she was three months along on her third and she made it to six months. Then, when visiting her children in the dragon pit, she tripped and fell down a set of steps, leading to a stillbirth. She had been devastated. 

After that, Daenerys became fearful that she’d never have a babe. The sun’s son, Quentyn Martell, sailed west to east. The pyramids of Meereen crumbled. The Dothraki Sea dried up. But she’d still not born a living child.

Grand Maester Toring told her after the stillbirth that she was still capable, but only if she waited over a year to try again, as her womb needed time to rest and repair itself. Only recently was she declared fit to try again.

Toring and Aegon were both confidant it could still happen. Aegon pointed out that her mother, Queen Rhaella, had difficulty, but eventually bore King Aerys two sons and a daughter. Rhaella’s mother Shaera had similar difficulties, only producing two children, but she still did it.

When Daenerys pointed out that Rhaella died giving her birth, Aegon attributed that to her misery over the fall of their House and the abuse she suffered at her husband’s hands. “Sometimes, these things take time. But I believe in you." 

Her husband loved her. Even if he did stray from her bed sometimes, he loved her and treated her well. She suspected his patience in this regard had something to do with his mother. Elia Martell almost died giving both him and his sister Rhaenys birth. After Aegon was born, she was declared incapable of having another child. It was believed to be a major factor in Rhaegar’s decision to abduct Lyanna Stark. 

“I don’t want to do what my father did. And I don’t want to hurt you the way your father hurt your mother. We’re still young. There’s hope.” 

Nonetheless, it was becoming a more pressing issue every day. More than once, Jon marrying was brought up. But finding an appropriate bride was difficult. Both Aegon and Daenerys still weren’t sure whom they could trust from among the Westeros nobility, and the fact that many of the Houses took part in Robert’s Rebellion didn’t escape them. Aegon was a bit resistant to it as well, as he feared that people would start counting Jon as the future of House Targaryen. It might send the message that you’re infertile and undermine us both, he argued. Jon, for his part, seemed in no rush to wed.

Now Daenerys regretted this, for obvious reasons. Jon putting a bastard in the Lady of Winterfell was not only a new potential source of war between two realms, but Targaryen bastards had a reputation of making trouble. A trueborn child, however…

Especially a trueborn child of Sansa Stark’s. It could solve a lot of problems.

Sansa was the product of an alliance that took down House Targaryen, descended from two Great Houses and tied by blood and marriage to another. For such a well-connected woman, especially one born of the old anti-Targaryen alliance, to marry into the new generation of dragons could send a powerful political message. It would draw three regions and over half the realm to the Targaryens by blood, further consolidating their power. Disunity was often a problem that plagued House Targaryen in the past, and it only got worse since her father was overthrown. Tying three of the ruling Houses to theirs with one match would be a priceless opportunity.

Then there was the matter of her children, the matter which Daenerys had just put to Jon and the source of their current silence. The problem of Eddard Stark Arryn. The boy poised to inherit two different major regions and in line for a third. The boy who was a Stark, an Arryn, and a Tully.

Though the boy was unlikely to inherit Riverrun--- his uncle had four trueborn children--- as things stood, he was still the immediate heir apparent to the Vale and the North. The future Warden of both the North and the East. Far too much power to allow a single man.

It wouldn’t be such an issue if young Eddard had a brother. That way, one could inherit the North, the other the Eyrie. While he had a sister, the pigheaded lords of most of Westeros didn’t much like the idea of a woman ruling. While they might tolerate Eddard’s inheritance being split apart to give rule to his trueborn brother, they were less likely to tolerate it on behalf of a woman.

Part of Daenerys had hoped that such a thing might still be possible. Sansa, after all, was Lord Paramount of the North in her own right. Perhaps with the right influence, the Northerners might be fine if Winterfell was given to the daughter. But she wasn’t entirely confident such a thing would happen. A reconciliation between Harry and Sansa that would produce another boy, however, would make things much easier. The only thing better than an heir was an heir and a spare, after all. A son for the Iron Throne, and another for Winterfell.

If Jon and Sansa produced a trueborn son, however, it could prove better than Dany imagined. Their son would have Stark blood from both sides. He would be a Targaryen and a potential heir for the Iron Throne. And if Daenerys did produce an heir, they’d still have a Targaryen as the new Lord of Winterfell.

Sansa Stark was fertile, too, obviously. She bore Harrold Hardyng two healthy children with ease and now she’d fallen pregnant again. She was young and healthy. Her mother had born Lord Eddard Stark five healthy children, three of them boys, and she fell pregnant with their eldest, Robb, after only a week of marriage. By thirty-four, she had five children and likely could have produced more if not for Lord Eddard’s death.

Daenerys had looked into her ancestry, too. Catelyn Stark’s mother, Minisa Whent Tully, actually produced six children. While only three survived infancy and Minisa died giving birth to her fourth son, she carried them all to term. Her other children were killed by winter illnesses, and she delivered her final child later in life. Sansa’s other grandmother, Lyarra Stark, bore four healthy children, all of whom lived to adulthood.

If Sansa gave Jon just two boys, numerous dangers could be averted. The eldest would inherit Winterfell if Daenerys produced an heir. If she didn’t, the boy could inherit the Iron Throne and his brother could be Lord of Winterfell while Eddard Arryn took the Eyrie.

She just wished this could have come about under better circumstances. IF Sansa was properly widowed, this would be ideal. Instead, what should be nothing but a golden opportunity was in fact an overwhelming danger to the stability of the realm.

If Daenerys was going to help Jon, though, she needed assurance. He’d endangered the peace and security of the North and the Vale with this. Now, rectifying it would involve an enormous risk on her part. Which is why she’d demanded what she had.

Jon’s reaction to Eddard’s disinheritance made something immediately clear: he’d fallen in love. Not just with Lady Stark, but with her children as well. 

“How can you be so cruel? Robbing that boy of his birthright. Asking his _mother_ , who is the only parent that loves him, to disinherit him? He’s grown up at Winterfell. He’s always been the heir to Winterfell. He thinks of himself as a Stark and views the Vale as a place where people disappear. He’s a wolf, and you want to take his home from him?” 

“People leave home all the time. It’s downright expected of women. He is still to be head of House Arryn. Of course, when this happens, he’ll have to foster in the Vale fairly soon…” 

“You can’t possibly expect Sansa to part with her son. To tear a boy from his family.”

“He would have to eventually, even if I wasn’t demanding this. He is as much the heir to the Eyrie as he is to Winterfell. He has to know his domain. All chances of Lord Harrold giving Lady Stark another son are dashed. If you want your child to have a proper name, Eddard cannot have the North.”

“What about Arya?”

“Arya would only be a faint possibility. If this were Dorne we were talking about, I’d feel better. But these pigheaded customs, unfortunately, make her inheritance unlikely. Not while she has a trueborn brother is she likely to be accepted as Lord Paramount. Not completely. Even in the North she’d probably have some troubles, and in the Vale, it would be worse. I cannot bank the hopes of maintaining the balance of power between the seven realms on a bunch of men accepting the sovereignty of a girl over her brother. And even if I did, one of them would still end up having to foster away fairly soon. Your desire to marry Sansa requires the removal of Harry Hardyng, leaving his children to inherit the Eyrie. The people of the Vale will want their new Lord raised here, and for good reason. If I’m going to help you and take this risk, then I demand security. I want the threat of one child gaining too much power removed, I want a Lord of Winterfell with Targaryen blood, and if I can’t produce an heir, I want your eldest son to eventually foster in the capital to be groomed as heir to the throne. That is my price.”

Jon railed at her and argued a bit more, but Daenerys held firm. She had a duty to her people. Jon didn’t really have much of a leg to stand on. Removing Harrold Hardyng Arryn was a serious risk, as was the marriage and pregnancy. The need for this removal came about because of his actions: his and Sansa’s.

His only protest was that Sansa’s will was her own business, and Winterfell’s future was hers to decide.

“I know, that’s why I’ve already written to her about it. I sent the raven before I left. I expect an answer from her to arrive by tomorrow at the latest.”

She’d insisted upon a prompt response in her letter. She couldn’t waste time.

“Did you think this would be easy?” she asked him. He had no response. All he had was a hurt look. So, Drogon brought them down to the ground before flying off to make a nest, Dany got on the back of Jon’s horse, and they rode back in silence.

If the court of the Gates noticed the tension between them, they gave no sign. Daenerys was welcomed deferentially by Lord Nestor, his family, and Lord Arryn in the courtyard.

“I’m enchanted, My Queen,” The Lord of the Eyrie said, kissing her fingertips, “I heard you were the fairest woman in the world. I am happy to see the singers weren’t lying.”

“You’re too kind,” Daenerys responded, not at all charmed. Lord Arryn seemed overly familiar.

“Welcome to the Vale. We’re honored to have you,” Lord Nestor interrupted, stepping forward. “Anything you may desire, only ask it, Your Grace.”

“I’ll admit, I could do with a good bath and lie down.” She was already eager for some privacy.

“Of course.”

She was shown to elegant apartments hung with purple silk. Most of her things for the trip already had been sent ahead, and were arranged when she entered. The rooms were spacious and contained a balcony with a view of the legendary Giant’s Lance. To her pleasure, she could spy Drogon building a perch on one of the cliffs. A comfort.

The queen was stepping out of her bath and pulling on her robe when a message with a direwolf seal was delivered. Daenerys changed into a plain kirtle and dismissed her maids before sitting at the small mahogany desk provided to her and breaking the seal. 

She’d received letters from Sansa Stark before. They were always beautifully written. But script that met her eyes now was slightly crooked, as if written with a shaking hand.

_To Her Grace Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, [titles, etc] from Sansa of the Houses Stark and Arryn, Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Lady of the Eyrie, greeting:_

_I have received and reviewed your offer, Your Grace. For the sake of my children, present and future, and for my people, I feel compelled to comply. Once Eddard is formally declared Lord of the Eyrie, he will forswear claims to the North. However, I do ask for a few conditions: First, until she has another brother, my daughter is recognized as heir to Winterfell and that she will still come before her younger sisters in the succession. Second, I ask that the future Lords of Winterfell still maintain the name “Stark” so that my House continue as its own entity. Winterfell shall not become the property of just a branch of House Targaryen. Third, that the choice of who my son Eddard fosters with is left to me and the lords of the Vale. Fourth, that when Eddard inherits, he shall make a brief visit to the Eyrie to claim his rights, then is allowed to return to Winterfell for a year to mourn his father, adjust to his new role, and welcome his new sibling with his family before fostering. Fifth, that I am still consulted and given direct power over his care and education while he is in the Vale. Sixth, that he be allowed to visit Winterfell each year until he reaches manhood and that my family and I are still permitted to visit him at our leisure. Seventh, that he be allowed to a keep a group of Northern guards and companions among his household._

_Regarding the possibility of future heirs fostering in the capital: I ask that I still be allowed power and privileges concerning how my children are raised even when fostered, that my family and I be allowed to visit and stay at the capital as we please, and that should this arise, that my child be allowed some companions from home._

_If it should happen that my daughter Arya is to inherit Winterfell (either due to not having any more brothers and/or only one who has to inherit the Iron Throne), I want a guarantee that her rights shall be protected and supported by the crown. Any potential Targaryen sisters shall not be put ahead of her. And if her brother ends up inheriting the Targaryen throne, Winterfell shall not be absorbed into his inheritance,_

_I ask that my sovereignty of Winterfell and the North is maintained after my marriage._

Daenerys had to hand it to the woman: she was both bold and thorough. None of the demands were unreasonable, of course. There’d be more, but that would likely be ironed out in the marriage contract itself. Establishing this seemed urgent enough, however.

She’d feel more comfortable if Jon were Warden of the North, but it wasn’t essential. It was a title more dependent on a royal grant than inheritance, which is why the Lady of Winterfell “asked” rather than named it as a condition. But Daenerys could work with that arrangement. It would probably please the Northern lords if she kept the title where it was.

Sighing, the queen wrote a response agreeing to these terms and had it dispatched, then wrote Jon a note telling him that Sansa agreed and that she would go over the details with him later.

Daenerys ended up hearing the banquet long before the Hall doors were opened and she saw it with her own eyes. The Royces and Hersys sat, stony-faced, at the high table as Lord Harry and some of his more favored courtiers giggled at the antics of their jesters. When Daenerys entered, everyone rose, and Lord Nestor hurried to escort her to the table. 

“Your Grace,” he whispered, “Allow me to assure you that on a normal day, my household is far more… Proper and restrained than what you see here. I hope what you may witness won’t color your impression of the Vale as a whole." 

“Of course, Lord Royce. Thank you.” _Don’t worry, if this works, you won’t have to deal with this again._ She took the place of honor between Jon and Lord Harrold and poured herself a large cup of wine. Lord Arryn seemed to approve.

Daenerys succeeded in not judging the Vale as a whole based on what she experienced that evening, but that didn’t stop the banquet from leaving an impression. Bessie Varemark sat by Harrold Hardyng’s side as if she were his true lady.  She was gowned in a blue and red silk gown that appeared suspiciously Tully-like with a rope of gold and green crystal beads around her neck. When Daenerys approached, Lady Bessie bowed deeply. “It is a great honor, Your Grace.” 

The queen had heard much of Bessie Varemark since departing for the Vale. She was described as shameless and overly familiar and completely disregarding of certain societal rules. Apparently, she gladly welcomed Lord Arryn’s bastard daughters into the Eyrie, even treating them as her own (an odd thing for even a mistress), and even more scandalously, the mothers were friends of hers. She was from a fairly small and impoverished Riverlands House whose fortunes depleted further after the fall of their sworn House, the Freys. She kept company with all manner of people and apparently considered herself a connoisseur of the theater. Rumors even said when she met Lord Arryn, she was performing in a mummer’s troupe herself. 

The way this was spoken of by the ladies at court, it was supposed to be quite scandalous. Daenerys had since learned that any number of things were worth scorn from the court of King’s Landing. Sometimes, when hearing the way women were spoken of, Daenerys felt compelled to mention how she once begged on the streets of the Free Cities and married a Dothraki horselord. But of course, the queen could get away with it.

Bessie seemed extremely pleased with her royal guests, and she proved far more attentive to them than her hosts. The hostility between her and the Royce women was palpable. Speaking to her, Dany could believe the woman was once a performer: while most ladies blushed when “Bill Longnose” and “Fat Francel” turned their acid tongues upon them, Bessie answered right back. 

“Ah!” Bill said, “It’s the Lady Arryn, or is it just the lady Arryn’s in?”

“The latter, and for that, I’m Lady Arryn’s chagrin!” Bessie said brightly. Jon stiffened at this, and Dany forced herself not to smile. Despite everything, it wasn’t a poor joke. _At least she’s honest._

The Lord of the Eyrie turned out more offensive than his mistress. Though his remarks didn’t reach nearly the level of crassness that Jon reported, he still managed to scandalize the others a bit. 

At one point, he called out to Ser Albar’s wife, Lady Darla Waynwood, who had grown up with him at Ironoaks. “Remember when your grandmother caught you kissing Ser Gerrion Hunter behind the rose bushes? I thought she’d tear your ear off!”

Lady Darla gave him a long look so sad that Daenerys felt like crying. It wasn’t even an angry expression, just of one witnessing a tragedy. But soon after, Lady Darla excused herself.

Jon leaned over at that point. “That won’t be the first Royce woman he’s humiliated since arriving.”

By the end of the evening, Daenerys was done. _Hell, even without the Stark babe, I’d be ready to remove him._

Daenerys ended up being one of the few women left in the Hall who wasn’t part of the Arryn retinue before long. At one point, the mountain guide, a blue-eyed bastard girl called Mya Stone, was grabbed by one of Harry’s men, Ser Mychel Redfort. 

“Come one, Sweetling, let’s have it like the old days." 

Mya broke his nose with a well placed fist to the face. The music from Arryn’s minstrels stopped as Ser Mychel fell from his chair. He doubled over and clutched his face, blood pouring down, and glared. “Bitch!”

 “Mistress Stone, you are cast from these halls!” Harry called out to the panting young woman.

Lord Nestor rose to his feet, looking furious. 

“These are still my halls, Lord Arryn. Your man is too forward, and he not only dishonors Mistress Stone, but my kinswoman Lady Ysilla. I will not tolerate it.”

Daenerys and Jon rose as well. 

“Contain your man, Lord Arryn.”

Harrold looked at her. “You know she’s the Usurper’s bastard, right?”

She invited Mya to sit beside her and Jon. The woman glared at them all. “All wrong,” she murmured, “It’s all wrong.”

 _It is._ Daenerys hadn’t been this scandalized since Meereen. As Jon and Brienne escorted her back to her chambers, she gave them a harsh look. “Tomorrow, Nephew.”

“Tomorrow? Truly?”

She nodded. “I can’t tolerate much more of this.”

The next day, Lord Harrold found himself unexpectedly honored with a dragon ride along with his royal guests. He preened as he was strapped into Drogon’s saddle behind Dany and Jon.

“Perhaps I might show you the Eyrie after all! This must be a much swifter ride than the dusty old mules Mya loves so much!”

They brought him to an empty cliff instead. “Not really the best view. So much is obscured at this end of the mountain,” Lord Arryn said.

Daenerys landed and looked him in the eye. “Exactly.”

Confusion blossomed on the Lord of the Eyrie’s face as Daenerys and Jon unstrapped themselves. Dany rejected Arryn’s efforts to help her down, and went to walk to the middle of the stony clearing. The full force of her violet gaze, all her Targaryen fire, burned into him through her eyes. “Get off. Now.”

Harrold Hardyng’s hands began to shake. Jon, harsh and impatient, helped him unstrap and more or less pushed him off.

It was now clear to Lord Arryn that this ride wasn’t the glorious compliment he expected. “If this is about the bastard girl---“

“No. This is about far more than that,” Jon told him. Panic seized the Lord of the Vale, and made to run. Jon stopped him and Daenerys laughed. _Where does he think he was going to run to?_

She walked to him, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look at her.

“You have failed in your service to us as Lord of the Vale, Lord Arryn. You must be removed. It is now up to you whether or not you want to leave your office alive or not. So listen very, very carefully. And please understand that the following options are the only ones available to you.”


	6. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offer is made to Harry. Jon deals with the guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to my awesome beta, Bluecichlid, for putting up with me.
> 
> Second, I want to apologize to you all for the slow turnout on this fic. I've been planning a few things and I've had a bunch of stuff going on--- I have a new job starting, so the output on this is going to be slower. But I'm still going to try and get a new chapter at least once a week.

Chapter Six: Consequences

Jon:

It gave him no small amount of satisfaction to see the smug pride die away from Harrold Hardyng Arryn’s stupid face when Daenerys spoke. Or to see the man glance around for escape routes. But Drogon was right there, blocking any survivable path from the cliff.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “I thought… Prince Jon, come now, you and I, we’ve grown to know and like each other over the past several days. If this is about Mya Stone--”

“---This is about more than Mya Stone, Lord Arryn,” Jon informed him, “Though that hardly helped your case. This is about the fact that almost all of the governing of the Vale is done by your vassals while you drink, wench, feast, and spend your life away up in the Eyrie. This is about the fact that you show disrespect to your lords and ladies on a regular basis. This is about the fact that you’ve failed in your duties not only as a lord, but as a husband and father. I have come to know you, Lord Harrold, but I have not come to like you. Quite the opposite.”

“The motto of House Arryn is ‘As High as Honor’, a motto you’ve failed to live up to. Indeed, your actions have caused deterioration in the Eyrie’s reputation. It’s clear you’re unfit for office,” Daenerys told the lord. “As queen, it is my duty to keep the constituent realms safe and well-governed. Some of your actions are a threat to the future of Westeros, particularly in regard to your family affairs.”

Harrold cringed. “So it was Sansa who put you up to this? Listen to me, I would gladly still be up North, putting up with that woman, if she would have done her duty to me! It is the duty of the wife to submit to her husband and hand over the management of her affairs and property to him. By rights, I am Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, yet she has refused to grant me control of the North. I am the reason Sansa has Winterfell in the first place! It was my men, my army, that allowed her to win it back. If it weren’t for me, she’d never see her home again! And yet, she has refused me all rights to what I fought for!”

Jon glared. “Numerous Northern lives were lost taking back the North from the Boltons as well, Lord Arryn. While your people certainly helped bring Sansa breach the Neck, the bulk of the forces that won her the Stark domains were Northern vassals, sworn to her. Loyal to her. They fought to have a Stark rule Winterfell, not an Arryn. What do you know of the North? Sansa was raised there, and she has ruled her lands well. You have the Eyrie and the Vale. Isn’t that enough?”

“I was promised both the Vale and the North. I was promised the North when I married her!”

Sansa had prepared Jon for these arguments. “You agreed to the betrothal and swore to take her to wife before there was any talk of the North. The agreed upon dowry was paid to you. The North was not part of that.”

“That’s only because at the time I thought she was Littlefinger’s bastard! That was a betrothal to Alayne Stone, not Sansa Stark.”

 

“Nevertheless, you have no legal grounds to complain. You willingly married Sansa when you knew who she was, and received the dowry promised to you in full.” 

“What does it matter, anyways?” Harry sputtered once it was clear that argument would get him nowhere. “We have a son and a daughter. She’s at Winterfell, I’m at the Eyrie. Together we made each other miserable. This way, we can ignore one another. I fail to see how I’ve failed.”

“You’ve given all the honors Sansa is due to your mistress. It’s well known that you are hoping for a son with Lady Bessie to supplant your son Eddard’s claim to the Eyrie. And you publicly dishonor your bride to an extent that could very well lead to war,” stated Daenerys. “We cannot allow this to continue.”

“Why should it matter? Eddard’s already going to have Winterfell, why does he need the Eyrie?”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “He is your only trueborn son. There is a succession crisis. Placing a bastard as Lord of the Eyrie would cause upheaval. Not to mention it would be an insult to the Warden of the North. And believe me, Lord Arryn, the North remembers such slights. They will not take insults like that lightly.”

Jon took a couple of steps toward Harrold. “I can assure you, that is true.”

“Fine. I’ll go back up North and make amends with the woman. Bessie won’t be happy, but I’ll even put another boy in her.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Lord Arryn,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “You’ve insulted and neglected my cousin for far too long. I will not subject her to more years suffering your mistreatment of her.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “But—“

“As we said, Lord Arryn, the options we are ready to present to you are the only ones. So shut up and listen,” Daenerys cut in.

The Lord of the Eyrie glared, but quieted himself.

“There are two options for you. The first would be that you legally and secretly renounce all claims upon the Eyrie, the domains, titles, and holdings of Houses Arryn, Hardyng, and Stark and abdicate all rights and responsibilities pertaining to your current position in favor of your son Eddard Stark Arryn and a group of regents until the lad comes of age. You must also renounce all claims upon Lady Stark’s hand. Then, with our help, your death shall be faked and you will be shipped across the Narrow Sea with a new name, residence, and generous income awaiting you. You must swear by the Old Gods and New to us that you shall never return to Westeros or try to lay claim to your old identity or any of the rights or honors pertaining to it. 

“To the world, and even to you, Harrold Hardyng Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, and Protector of the Vale shall be dead. You will live out your days in comfort in Pentos as someone else. Your mistress may accompany you. The second option is actual death.” 

Jon barely managed not to shiver. Despite his determination and loathing of the man before him, the ethics involved in this offer were practically non-existent. _I am forcing a man to give up his life and birthright so that I might have his wife._ Jon sometimes wondered who it was that he’d become. He wondered that the first time he threw a child’s corpse onto a burning pyre and felt nothing. He wondered that the first time he’d lain alongside Ygritte.

Harry’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand… There have been worse Lord Paramounts and husbands than I. I have offered to make amends with my wife. Why…?”

Then a glimmer of realization came to his face. He looked at Jon. “So who is the poor bastard she wishes to replace me with? Is it you?”

 _Seven Hells. Of all the times for his brain to start working._ It took every ounce of strength he had to keep the quilt from showing on his face. “Lady Stark has not entered into any betrothals.”

“But she will the second I’m dead, won’t she?”

“That is none of your affair.”

“Like Hell it is!”

Daenerys cut in. “No, it isn’t. You decided to abandon your wife. You have no interest doing your duty as a husband. Lord Arryn, you’ve proven time and again that you are as unfit to be Lady Stark’s husband as you are to be Lord of the Eyrie. It is time for you to step down for someone who can fulfill those responsibilities. Now, you are trying my patience. No more stalling. Will you yield, or will you die?” 

Lord Arryn fumed, looking back and forth between Jon and Daenerys. “I don’t have much choice, do I? Fine. If I can take Bessie with me, and you promise we’ll be taken care of---“

“We promise,” Jon said quickly, surprised by Harry’s concern and acceptance.

“Fine. But I must break it to Bessie.”

Bessie, as it turned out, did not take this well. They pulled her into a secluded room in Harry’s apartments and sat her down at a small dining table to inform her. She nearly upended the table. 

“What do you mean we’re going to _Pentos?"_

“The queen has assured me that she will secure us a generous income and accommodations in the city. We shall want for nothing. We’ll even be wed.” 

This did not seem to satisfy the lady. She scowled. “So, I’m supposed to just leave my home and friends forever?” She turned to her man. “Harry--- what about the girls?”

“What girls?” Daenerys asked.

“My daughters. I have two bastard daughters conceived before I was wed,” Lord Arryn explained hastily. “Bessie--- they’ll be provided for, of course.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To leave the girls and their mothers behind and never worry over them again?”

Jon was surprised to hear this. The vehemence with which Bessie spoke of this seemed genuine. “I wonder, Lady Bessie, why these concerns don’t extend to Lord Arryn’s other two children.”

The woman glared at Jon. “Eddard and Arya? You mean the two with a highborn mother, a true name, and established rights? The ones already being raised in the lap of luxury by Lady High and Icy? Who have the Lady of Winterfell for a mother instead of a kitchen wench and a former whore? No, I don’t stay up many nights worrying over them. I concern myself with the fates of those poor little bastard girls who don’t have an established livelihood waiting for them.”

“We can make provisions to make sure the girls are provided for,” replied Jon, chastened. Sansa had actually brought the girls, Henrielle and Alysane, up to him. The two had stayed at Winterfell for a while before Harry took them back to the Vale. She’d expressed wishes to see them again.

Still, it perturbed him. He was now seeing Lady Bessie in a thoroughly different light. In the days since he arrived, Jon had listened to Albar Royce’s wife, Lady Darla, rant and rave about how Bessie Varemark had so thoroughly corrupted the boy she’d grown up with. “Harry used to be an absolute treasure. Kind and courteous and dutiful. Then that woman came along and turned him into an utter lout.” 

Jon never believed that entirely. After all, Bessie came into the picture after Harry left Sansa. But now he was starting to suspect that this woman was even more maligned than he originally imagined.

“Oh, I’m sure Lady High and Icy would just love to get her hands on them again.” Bessie scowled.

The prince began to lose patience then. _She’d take care of them._ “You will not insult Lady Stark again, Lady Bessie. She is a good woman, a fine lady, and an excellent mother. For you to insult her further after everything else you’ve done---“

“---What? Love Harry? Yes, I love Harry and I’ve been more a wife to him than she has. Maybe I don’t have the name, and maybe I haven’t managed to give him any children yet, but I’ve loved him, been loyal to him, looked after him. I’ve been taking care of Harry and acting as Lady of the Eyrie for three years. I’ve gotten no respect for it, and suffered the insults of high and mighty snobs like Myranda Royce Hersy, but I’ve done it all. Lady Stark never loved Harry. She used him and denied him his rights. And I will _not_ apologize for falling in love with this poor fool.”

Bessie got to her feet, her eyes welling up. “Eddard already has Winterfell to inherit, why couldn’t I birth the Lord of the Eyrie? Why do I have to mold my life around some Northerner I’ve never met? Maybe I’m not as highborn or pretty, but that doesn’t make me a bad person. Do what you want. Send us to Pentos. But I want assurance that those two girls will be well cared for, and _not_ by Lady High and Icy!”

She ran from the room, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. Harry looked at his lap.

“She’s not a bad woman. She’s a good woman.” Harry insisted. “And she deserves better. But if I truly die, she’ll have to go back to Castle Varemark in disgrace. Ser Haman and Lady Varemark--- they’re not the kindest people. They’ll make her miserable. She won’t be able to marry well, after this. This is my fault. I’ll sign whatever you want. Just promise me that Bessie can come with me, and that I can make sure she has a happy life.”

Jon lifted the chest he’d brought up onto the table and unlocked it. It was filled with papers and coins. Before he could begin the process, however, Bessie marched back in, red-faced.

“AND ANOTHER THING! If you think I don’t know what’s happening here, you’re even more of a fool than you think _I_ am! I’ve spent the last several days marveling over how any man could turn down Nora or her brother or any of the other pretty boys or girls we’ve got with us. Now I see it. Well, _Prince Jon_ , I hope you’re happy with what you’re buying. I met Harry just after he left Winterfell and he was miserable. She may have charmed you now, but Harry has told me all about her. She’ll bat her eyelashes at you for a while, and the second you’ve wedded and bedded her, she’ll become a frigid bitch and make you miserable, just like she did with the last husband. Even if she is as beautiful as they say, all the prettiness in the world can’t make up for what’s underneath. With the lights off, all women look the same, but they don’t bed the same. So enjoy the life of misery ahead of you. I’m just glad Harry’s going to be out of her clutches for good.”

Then she marched out. Daenerys began going over the plan with Harry: Tomorrow morning, Harry would officially renounce all claims to the Eyrie and petition to dissolve his marriage on grounds of adultery. Jon and Dany would serve as witnesses, and the document of annulment would go back to the capital with the queen to be signed by the High Septon. All of this would be done secretly. Jon and Daenerys would depart in two days and two days after that, Harry and Bessie would begin the ascent up to the Eyrie. A fall would be faked with the help of Dany’s agents, and Harry would be pronounced dead. Meanwhile, a boat would be waiting for him at the smallest of the Fingers to take him to Pentos. Bessie would join him a week later. There, a magister named Illyrio would take them in and find them a small estate of their own. New identities and a generous allowance would be afforded to them as long as they never journeyed west again.

“How generous?” Harry asked. Jon showed him the gold he and Sansa had procured. It was enough to buy a small manse in Pentos and staff it for full year. “This is just pocket change, however. The mansion and your servants shall be paid for by the crown and Sansa’s widow’s pension. You’ll receive a yearly income in addition to this. It’ll be smaller than what you received as Lord of the Eyrie, but you won’t have the same level of expenses, so you’ll be able to enjoy the same level of comforts that you would here, with nothing expected of you.”

Despite Harry’s apparent acceptance of this--- indeed, his eyes seemed to gleam when he saw the gold presented to him--- Jon felt a fierce amount of guilt. Lord Arryn seemed more than willing to depart, but thoughts of Lady Bessie and Harry’s daughters bothered him. _And Ned. And the Vale. I’m upending so many peoples’ lives. All so I can have Harry’s wife._

It was easier to feel good about this when he was only thinking of how it would affect Sansa’s husband. But now, the disturbing nature of this arrangement was made all too clear to him. _I’m disrupting so much in order to steal a man’s bride. Harry doesn’t deserve my concern, but he’s making out of this with everything he could possibly want. It’ll be others who have to pay the price._

In Jon and Sansa’s case, it was literally, to a partial extent. Sansa was already setting aside a percentage of projected earnings in the coming years. It was gold that could have gone towards improving living conditions in the North. Sansa was already pawning jewels to offset the cost. Jon’s own incomes were fair, but not expansive. He formally had a title and domains of his own in Summerhall, but the castle itself was a ruin and the incomes from the surrounding villages were not immense. In the months before, he and Daenerys had spoken of rebuilding the castle in the upcoming years. That would have to wait now. A chunk of change was already being put towards investments simply to try and increase Winterfell’s incomes enough to pay for this as well.

They would be having a small wedding. At least at first. A wedding in the Great Sept of Baelor was generally expected of royalty, however, due to the constraints of time and expense, Jon and Sansa would be legally wed in the godswood at Winterfell.

Already, time was of the essence. Sansa was nearly three moons along. By the time Jon was back and the mourning period was up, she’d be almost four moons in.  Sansa could only hide so much, and by five moons it would be impossible. The idea was that they’d announce the conception just over a moon’s turn following the wedding, and Sansa would claim illness and stay in confinement until long after the babe was actually born and they’d claim an early birth.

They could trust the people of Winterfell to keep quiet enough. Likely, there’d be some whispers. They’d encourage people to believe that Jon put the babe in her upon his return--- she’d have received word of Harry’s death by then and officially be a mourning widow. It would be a scandal, but not nearly on the level of what it could be.

After the child was officially born, they’d make the journey to the capital and present the new prince or princess, and a second wedding would be held. The good news was that the crown had the High Septon by the shorthairs. There’d be whispers, but not enough to cause any real trouble. As long as they were careful, it would rise above idle gossip.

But it was an absolutely painful situation. Jon could look forward to years of lying to his first child about their Name Day, to odd looks and whispers from the Vale, to having to send Ned to the Eyrie and explain that Winterfell wasn’t his anymore.

 _And I’m ousting this man to cover for my adultery._ When the meeting adjourned, Jon went back to his apartments and took a good, long look at himself in the mirror. _Is it worth it?_

For a second, he imagined he saw that fresh-faced boy of four-and-ten, eager to prove himself an honorable man grown. The one determined to prove himself despite his bastard status with a life of duty, sacrifice, and service. _“A bastard can have honor too!”_ he remembered insisting to Uncle Benjen.

Bastards were supposed to be more licentious and deceitful than true-born folk. Technically, Jon wasn’t a bastard--- a certificate of marriage between Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen was produced by Howland Reed years ago. But Jon never felt like more of one now.

Jon looked into the mirror, and imagined his face, thirteen years younger, unscarred, facial hair still growing in patches, spots decorating his cheeks. “When you are a man, truly, you will not be a man of the Night’s Watch. You shall have broken your oaths even before the Watch is disbanded. And after that, you will be a prince, not Eddard Stark’s son, but his nephew. Despite this, you will return to Winterfell. Then you will seduce your married cousin, formerly your half-sister, and put a babe in her. And in order to save your skins, you will threaten and bribe her husband and others out of their home so that you might take her for yourself and give a name to your babe. You shall steal another man’s wife, and the life he knows and displace numerous others in order to achieve your own ends. You will grow up to commit adultery, fraud, and coercion.”

The boy in him threw a fit. Jon couldn’t blame him. _Father would be so ashamed._

He banished the image of Eddard Stark’s bitterly disappointed and furious face from his mind. _Father’s honor got him killed._

This wasn’t fair. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, he felt pushed into making awful choices. _I can never win._

 _I never should have gone to bed with her. I should have had more control._ But they were both so lonely, so tired, and so in love. It had been years since he’d had a woman, and she was so soft and warm in his arms. And it seemed so natural. Despite all the history, Jon felt so much more like a husband to her than he ever felt like a brother. He once loved Sansa as a sister, but they were never close and out of all the Starks, the clearest divide existed between him and Sansa. 

But when it came to taking care of Ned and Arya, ruling Winterfell, and speaking as adults, there was this uncanny intimacy all at once. Jon found himself slipping into the role of father and lord far more easily than he imagined, and it was almost hard not to think of himself as her husband even before he’d acknowledged and confessed his feelings to her. There was a girl who had insisted that the boy Jon Snow was “only” her half-brother. Now there was this woman who walked with him through the halls, stitched his shirts, went over ledgers, ruled a castle, and took care of two wonderful children with him. A woman whom he could speak with more honestly than anyone since Arya. After all these years, only Sansa understood what Jon had lost, for she’d lost them too.

Long before Jon laid a hand on her, he found himself imagining her as his lady. He started doing things like walking her through the glass gardens and giving her flowers, praying with her at the Heart Tree, feasting with her in the Great Hall. He imagined bathing with her in the hot springs and more. So many of the things he fantasized doing with Ygritte and later, Val. But this time… This time it just seemed so real.

 _I should have controlled myself._ His lust got the better of him. _Even if I am in love, I should have resisted. We both should have. We should have known better._

He knew Sansa was as much at fault as he was, but that didn’t absolve him. _I could have, and should have stopped it. I forced myself to leave Ygritte behind. I should have forced myself away from Sansa._

But then, Ygritte never conceived. _If she had, what would I have done?_

He honestly didn’t know.

Everything seemed so complicated. _Why couldn’t Bessie be a monster? Why do there have to be so many people affected by this?_

_Why can’t we just be happy?_

Jon wondered when it would end. _How many more lies will I have to tell? How many more people will have to suffer?_

_Filthy. I feel filthy._

The reflection before him proved too hard to look at much longer. Jon turned away and threw himself on the bed.

Winterfell returned. He could feel the cold stone floors under his paws and smell bread baking from the kitchens. It smelled like home.

He knew where to go. Up the winding tower staircase, through the doors. A chamber with a small, canopied bed and wooden soldiers sitting on shelves.  Upon the bed, a small boy with red hair sat in a white wool tunic and a grey fur with ears on the hood. Toy knights sat in his lap, which he put aside upon seeing his visitor.

“Ghost!” Ned hurried off the bed and hugged the wolf’s neck. “Are you sleeping with me tonight?”

He nudged the boy’s cheek with his snout. Ned grinned. “You can’t get on the bed--- Mama says you’re too big. But you can sleep on the floor next to me.”

He rested his head upon the boy’s furs as Ned climbed back under the covers. A short while later, the Lady of Winterfell came in and tucked her son in. Ned asked for a song, and his mother, sitting serenely on the side of the bed, smiled and sang ‘Alysanne.’ Her voice was sweet and strong.

At one point, their eyes met, and Sansa hesitated before continuing with the next verse. By the time the song finished, Ned was nodding off. Sansa kissed her son, then walked around the bed, bent over, and kissed the wolf as well. “I miss you, Jon,” she whispered before gliding out of the room.

Ned’s hands reached out and curled around the wolf’s ears. “’Night, Ghost.”

Jon stayed as long as he could, but eventually, he had to return to the Gates of the Moon.

Getting to sleep proved difficult. When he finally nodded off, it seemed a mere second before someone was banging on his door. Jon wearily got to his feet. Daenerys, Brienne, Harry, and a couple of guards came in. The queen, looking furious, stormed in, clutching a set of parchment.

“Our Lord Arryn tried to send a few letters.”

Jon’s blood went cold. “Did we get them all?” If the wrong people were alerted to what was happening, everything would fall apart.

“I’ve had scouts watching him,” Dany replied, “They’re currently searching his apartments.”

“Those were the only letters, I swear!” Harry cried out, looking desperate. “I swear it by the Seven!”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t follow the Seven.” He looked at Brienne and Daenerys. “We have to send scouts out, make sure no messengers on foot are getting out.”

“Already being done,” Brienne assured him. “Servants are being questioned as well.”

Jon nodded and turned to Harry once more. The Lord of the Eyrie fell to his knees. “Please. I’ll go to Pentos. You’ll never hear from me again.”

Before he could reply, Daenerys bid him to read the letters. They were addressed to Mace Tyrell, Arianne Martell, Martyn Lannister, Asha Greyjoy, Anya Waynwood, Yohn Royce, and a number of other prominent lords of the Vale informing them of the deal made. He informed them that he was due to die shortly and if and when they got word of him falling from the Giant’s Lance, that they must take up arms to restore him to his rightful seat, “or else risk similar attacks upon your own position.” Sansa was implicated as well as her Uncle Edmure.

He was trying to incite war all over the kingdom. The worst part was that the accusations of Daenerys abusing her power weren’t even inaccurate.

Jon’s stomach turned. The letters continued, with pleas to the other lords not only to attack the crown, but to attack Winterfell as well.

“Your children are at Winterfell!” Jon said in disgust. “And you would incite the realm to lay siege to their home?”

“I mentioned in a few that I didn’t want them dead,” Harry replied, as if he didn’t understand the big deal.

 _A few._ “After Theon Greyjoy sacked Winterfell, my brother Robb ordered that he be brought before him alive and unharmed. Theon ended up mutilated beyond recognition and eventually executed. In battle, people do harm to anyone they can. Your foolishness could have cost Ned and Arya their lives. Your _children._ ”

“They’re more hers than they were ever mine.”

Brienne managed to stop Jon from tearing the man apart. Daenerys had Harry hauled away.

“There’s more, Jon. Bessie Varemark is pregnant again. Harry… well, as it turns out….” she hesitated.

“What?!” Jon demanded, furious. Daenerys sighed and made him sit down. He took a seat on one of the sofas. His aunt sat down before him. “You have to promise to control yourself when you hear this.”

Jon tightened his fists and nodded.

“We found some other things in his apartments. Certain letters between him and some spies he’d placed in Winterfell’s household. The latest ones say that Lady Stark has a lover. The writer couldn’t identify who it was, but they did say they believed your trip to the Vale was occurring due to your outrage over it. The spy reports that they believe her lover to be one of two guards in Lady Stark’s employ and that you and the lady had a falling out over it.”

Jon’s skin crawled. _So close. Thank the gods the man is too thick to hire competent spies._

Daenerys sighed. “Orders were put out for food, armor, swords, enough supplies and travel equipment and arrangements to bring a host of men north.” 

Jon’s stomach sank. “So he intended to charge her with adultery.”

“He wouldn’t exactly be wrong, would he?” Dany swallowed heavily. “This man nearly brought war to Westeros. He must be removed. Permanently. But with this new complication, for all I know there are more of these letters that have already escaped our grasp. He has to be discredited. Are you prepared to call him a liar before the entire Vale?” 

Jon swallowed. “He endangered Ned and Arya. Yes, I am.” 

He meant this. It was as if some sort of wild beast had been released within him. Jon just didn’t care anymore. Harry was willing to risk the lives of Ned and Arya and harm their mother just to keep his title. He didn’t deserve any sympathy.

 _It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll do any underhanded thing necessary. No one harms my family. Not again. I won’t let it happen._  

Daenerys stood. “Good. Based on what we find, I’ll construct a story. Hardyng had a chance. He crushed it. The trial won’t take long, I assure you. In the meantime, try not to create another mess for me to clean up. Maid Brienne, keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t sneak into Hardyng’s cell and kill him.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Jon felt Brienne’s eyes on him, judging him. He glared at her. 

“You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” 

“No, My Prince. However, I feel I must inform you that the vows of service between Lady Stark and I involve a promise that I shall not be expected to do anything that diminishes my sense of honor. If you wish to bring charges against Lord Arryn, fine. He’s a waste who deserves nothing more. He endangered Lady Stark and her children. However, do not expect me to contribute in this enterprise beyond protecting you. I will not lie in front of a court of the Seven. Is that understood?”

Jon nodded. “I’m glad. It’s good to know someone is keeping up a pretense of honor these days.”

Brienne pursed her lips and said nothing more. She didn’t need to.


End file.
